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OUR   FIRST  HALF 

MILLION 

The  Story  of  Our  National  Army 

By  Captain  X 

3--th  Field  Artillery 


Illustrated 


NEW  YORK 

THE  H.  K.  FLY  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


> 


<       N 


v\ 


Copyright  1918,  by 
The  H.  K.  Fly  Company. 


./ 


,To  Eleanoe  Ward  Fox 


393577 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  In  Caxtoxment  r 15 

II.  "Making  Men" S7 

III.  "The  Aemy  Laughs" :  51 

IV.  The  Spirit  of  Our  Men 77 

V,  "The  Job  of  Soldiering" 94? 

VI.     "HXrpooning  the  Hun" :  1^1 

VII.     ^'Remember  San  Juan"  > 141 

VIII.     "What  Our  Soldiers  Like" .,  165 

IX.     *'The  West  Point  of  Our   Civilian 

Army"  ;.. .-.:  188 

X.     "The  Glory  op  the  Guns" Sll 

XL  Why  We  Will  Defeat  Germany.  . . .   233 

XIL     "All  in  the  Day's  Work" 253 

XIIL    "The  IMagic  of  Mars". ...^  279 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Upon  his  arrival  at  camp,  the  recruit's  steps 
lead  from  the  railroad  station  to  the  regi- 
mental infirmary    Frontispiece 

The  Y.  M.  C.  A's  shacks  are  made  attractive 
places  to  visit,  and  once  there  the  soldier  is 
in  an  atmosphere  that  is  clean 49 

The  National  Army  is  serious.  It  is  dignified. 
It  has  taken  the  war  with  a  philosophy  quite 
like  the  French 82 

One  long  thrust,  a  short  jab,  a  leap,  and  they're 
at  the  next  set  of  dummies 125 

Never  heard  of  the  Ninety-second?  It's  the 
Negro  Division  of  the  National  Army.  The 
Division  that's  going  to  write  its  name  big 
before  the  Hun  gets  on  his  knees 142 

At  their  disposal  were  all  the  lessons  of  the 
European  War 195 

Our  trim  Three-inchers  are  slender  and  good  to 
look  upon ;  with  their  long,  slim  barrels  they 
suggest  sleeping  power 216 


FOREWORD 

Ian  Hay  told  the  story  of  Britain's  First 
Hundred  Thousand.  This  is  the  tale  of  Amer- 
ica's First  Half  Million. 

One  has  fried  to  tell  of  the  National  Army 
in  its  making.  One  has  sought  to  reduce  some 
of  the  sincerity  of  our  men  in  cantonment  to 
pen  and  ink.  That  has  not  been  difficult,  for 
the  very  air  thereabout  breathes  with  the  deep 
purpose  of  the  new  army  and  its  deep  convic- 
tion in  the  justice  of  our  cause.  We  will  not 
lose. 

There  is  a  saying  in  the  army  that  an  Artil- 
lery Captain's  work  is  never  done.  The  small 
hours  of  the  morning,  and  only  them,  belonged 
to  the  writing  of  this  book.  Literary  polish  it 
lacks.  No  effort  has  been  made  to  attain  it. 
The  one  thing  sought  after  was  sincerity — ^to 
tell  just  what  the  selected  men  of  the  Na- 
tional Army  are  doing,  how  they  are  faring, 

ix 


X  FOREWORD 

why  their  very  presence  in  uniform  is  the  dawn 
of  a  new  and  more  glorious  America.  And 
their  slogan  is  "Berlin  or  Bust!"  .  .  .  And 
it  5 AaZZ  be  Berlin! 

CAPTAIN  X , 

Camp  , 

Jan.  5,  1918. 

3— th  Field  Artillery, 
National  Army. 


to-morrow; 

It  is  springtime  and  children  romp.  The 
crocus  and  violets  are  coming  out,  and  across 
the  nursery  window  a  tall  maple  weaves  a  leafy 
lattice  of  green.  There  beside  his  boy  a  father 
stands,  his  hand  upon  the  sturdy  little  fellow's 
shoulder,  his  eyes  lost  in  dwelling  upon  a  mem- 
ory that  he  seems  to  find  somewhere  beyond 
the  rolling  April  hills.  He  hears  a  skylark's 
song ;  the  sparrows  are  contentedly  chattering. 
Across  the  blue  a  crow  darts ;  it  is  as  if  he  must 
flee  with  his  sombre  colors  from  here ;  for  all  is 
happiness.    The  world  is  at  peace, 

"Just  ten  years  ago  to-day,"  the  father  says 
aloud,  patting  the  shoulder  of  his  boy.  "Ten 
years." 

"Daddy!    Will  I  be  a  soldier,  too?'* 

His  face  filled  with  understanding,  the 
father  regards  him. 

"Boy,"  he  proposes,  not  answering  the  ques- 
tion, "I  had  a  friend  in  France." 

xi 


xii  TO-MORROW 

"Yes,  daddy;  I  know.    He  was  a  soldier." 

*'One  night,  son,  when  the  guns  were  growl- 
ing along  the  Meuse,  he  came  with  other 
French  officers  to  visit  our  battery.  He  told 
me  that  night,  as  we  sat  in  a  dug-out  and 
smoked,  a  story.    I'll  tell  it  now  to  you." 

The  boy  claps  his  hands.  He  likes  his  daddy 
to  tell  him  stories  of  the  war. 

"Son,"  his  father  begins,  "my  friend  told  me 
that  when  he  was  very  young  his  father  took 
him  on  his  knee  and  told  him:  *My  boy,  in 
eighteen-seventy  your  father  went  to  war, 
against  the  Prussians.  And,  my  boy,  you  will 
have  to  go  to  war  some  day,  too,  because  your 
father  lost/  It  was  a  French  father  who  told 
his  boy  that,  a  little  boy,  just  like  you." 

"Yes,  daddy." 

"And,  son,"  and  the  father  snatches  up  the 
youngster  in  his  arms  and  hugs  him  against  his 
heart. 

"But  you,"  he  promises  his  boy,  "you  won't 
have  to  go  to  war — never,  son — for  there  is  no 
more  war,  son — no;  it's  gone,  son — gone  for 
good.  For  ten  years  ago  your  father  went  to 
war  against  Prussia,  and  your  father  won/' 

But  the  youngster  spies  a  playmate  crossing 
the  lawn  and,  wriggling  from  his  father's  arms. 


TO-MORROW  xiii 

he  runs  to  join  him.  A  shadow  briefly  crosses 
the  father's  face;  but  then  he  smiles.  "Youth 
to  youth,"  he  thinks,  and  then  he  could  have 
sung  for  joy  as  he  thought  that  he  was  one 
who,  ten  j^ears  before,  had  marched  away  to 
make  safe  a  world  for  the  children. 


OUR    FIRST    HALF    MILLION 


CHAPTER  I 

IN   CANTONMENT 

Spaces  of  sandy  pine  woods,  swelling  fields 
ready  for  the  harvest,  the  sleepy  villages  of 
south  Jersey,  had  been  whirling  past  our  motor 
— and  then  we  got  our  first  glimpse  of  Camp 
Dix.  A  confusion  of  unpainted  pine  sheds 
took  shape;  a  towering  dark  skeleton  that 
might  have  been  an  Artillery  observation  post 
on  France's  front,  but  merely  a  water  tower  in 
the  making;  and  then  the  Army  trucks  rum- 
bling through  the  mazes  of  vaguely  defined 
roads,  workmen  swarming  by  the  thousands,  a 
Negro  militia  sentinel,  who  shouted  at  us: 
"Halt!  Who's  dar?"  .  .  .  That  was  our  first 
impression  of  Camp  Dix. 

Commissioned   at  the   Training   Camp   of 

Madison  Barracks,  we  had  been  ordered  with 

hundreds  of  our  brother  officers  to  report  for 

15 


16  OtrlR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

duty  at  this  New  Jersey  cantonment  of  the 
new  National  Army — America's  answer  to  the 
German  war  lords.  It  was  with  a  thrill  that 
one  realized  that  at  this  same  time  ten  thou- 
sand officers,  products  of  the  intensive  courses 
conducted  by  the  War  Department  during  the 
summer  now  ending,  were  reporting  at  canton- 
ments similar  to  Camp  Dix  throughout  our 
land.  America  had  called  to  arms.  The  first 
draft,  six  hundred  thousand  men  for  the  new 
National  Army,  would  all  be  in  these  canton- 
ments before  winter's  end.  And  we  were  to 
make  them  into  soldiers  and  lead  them  into 
battle — in  France.  ...  A  glorious  new  ad- 
venture had  begun. 

Now  it  is  upon  this  National  Army  that  the 
safety  of  our  land  depends.  It  is  not  my  pur- 
pose to  present  the  facts  for  this  statement. 
They  have  been  before  the  public,  brought 
there  by  our  President,  by  our  Secretary  of 
State.  The  designs  of  the  Imperial  German 
Government  upon  the  liberty  of  the  world, 
upon  our  liberty,  have  been  officially  put  be- 
fore our  people  by  Washington.  Our  little 
Regular  Army,  our  National  Guard,  is  speed- 
ing overseas.  In  that  vast  battle  line  of  Eu- 
rope they  will  be  swallowed  up.    But  they  will 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  17 

hold  the  line  for  America  until  the  National 
Army  comes,  until  we  come.  Not  forgetting 
that  we  number  but  a  half  million  or  so,  and 
that  when  we  leave  cantonment  others  will 
come  in,  be  trained,  and  go  as  we  shall  go. 
And  so  as  our  pressure  gets  greater  will  the 
Hohenzollern  sue  for  peace.  For  as  the 
French  say,  ''Jusqu"  a  hour— "To  the  End!" 
We  shall  finish  this  Imperial  menace  now ;  we 
shall  not  leave  it  for  our  sons  to  fight  over. 
And  that  is  the  mood  of  our  awakened  nation, 
of  its  National  Army. 

Will  it  be  able  to  accomplish  that  ?  Will  the 
American  make  as  good  a  soldier  as  the  for- 
midable helmeted  man  of  the  Kaiser's  legions  ? 
Flave  these  drafted  men  the  stuff?  What  of 
the  spirit?  Has  the  mass  of  America  been 
civilian  so  long  that  the  problem  of  having  it 
act  and  think  in  a  military  way  will  be  over- 
whelming? .   .   .  Let  us  see. 

Come  back  with  me  to  the  cantonment  in 
Jersey  as  we  saw  it  that  first  day.  There,  near 
Wrightstown,  one  of  those  four-corner  vil- 
lages with  a  "general  store,"  a  wooden  city  was 
rising  overnight.  To  the  swarmings  of  eight 
thousand  workmen,  a  mad  clattering  of  ham- 
mers, the  shouts  of  laborers,  unloading  lumber 


18  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

from  an  interminable  line  of  flat  cars,  the  com- 
ings and  goings  of  preoccupied  Engineer  Offi- 
cers, farmers,  busy  gathering  in  their  crops 
that  fell  within  the  confines  of  this  new  mili- 
tary area,  and  the  bewildered  questionings  of 
civilian  concession  seekers.  Camp  Dix  grew. 

Where  on  this  tract  of  pine-fringed  Jersey 
flatland  there  were  in  July  but  a  few  isolated 
farmhouses,  there  was  by  August-end  the 
sturdy  unpainted  shape  of  a  permanent  mili- 
tary garrison.  Where  of  a  morning,  so  it 
seemed,  there  had  been  but  a  pile  of  lumber, 
evening  often  found  the  skeleton  of  a  pine 
shed.  Magically  the  framework  filled  in; 
buildings  grew  from  nothing  in  mere  days. 
Wasn't  it  Cadmus  who  showed  his  teeth  and  a 
host  of  armed  men  appeared? 

We  officers  were  at  Camp  Dix  for  more  than 
a  week  before  the  first  of  the  National  Army 
came.  We  thought,  "What  will  they  be  like? 
How  will  they  take  to  military  training? 
Have  they  the  fighting  stuff  in  them?"  Ha- 
rassing speculations,  these,  for  the  officers  who 
were  called  upon  to  produce  results  with  the 
new  army. 

As  always,  rumor  ran  wild.  There  were 
tales  of  the  Socialists,  of  the  I.  W.  W.,  of 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  19 

German  agents  who  had  cleverly  waged  cam- 
paigns in  the  draft  centers.  Not  a  little  ap- 
prehension was  felt  over  what  these  breeders 
of  sedition  might  have  created.  And  then  the 
men  came. 

In  a  Field  Artillery  regiment  there  hap- 
pened one  of  those  little  incidents  which  often 
give  an  index  to  the  tenor  of  great  happen- 
ings. A  newspaper  artist  came  down  from 
'New  York.  He  visited  my  Battery  after  hav- 
ing made  pictures  of  some  of  the  recruits  in 
another  regiment.  He  asked  me,  "What  is  a 
five-per-cent.  man?  I  heard  one  of  the  rookies 
over  in  the  next  barracks  boasting  that  he  was 
five  per  cent.;  it  sounded  funny  to  me — five 
per  cent." 

I  explained  to  the  artist  that  a  five-per-cent. 
man  was  one  who  had  been  first  called  to  the 
colors. 

That  rookie — bless  him! — had  deemed  it  an 
honor. 

Away  with  the  idea  that  because  the  Ameri- 
can has  been  fed  up  so  long  on  the  theory  of 
doing  wiiat  he  pleases,  when  he  pleases,  that  he 
will  not  accept  military  service.  The  doubters, 
the  scoffers,  the  alarmists,  forecasting  dire 
trouble  with  these  drafted  men,  those  persons 


20  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

simply  did  not  know  their  country.  They  did 
not  know  the  men  who  composed  it. 

Certain  newspapers  in  discussing  the  draft 
during  the  summer  used  an  unfortunate  word. 
It  was  "conscript."  With  that  word  one  asso- 
ciates dragging  footsteps,  sullen  hearts,  down- 
cast eyes.  But  these  men  that  came  to  us  were 
not  conscripts;  they  were,  in  fact,  simply  re- 
paying their  country  in  its  hour  of  need  for 
everything  their  country  had  done  for  them 
and  for  their  fathers.  Which,  if  you  don't 
think  is  much,  travel  across  the  face  of  South- 
ern, Eastern  Europe  and  the  Balkans,  as  you 
may  have  done;  see  what  life  offers  to  man- 
kind there.  No,  not  conscripts,  these  men  of 
the  neAV  National  Army;  rather  men  who 
thoroughly  understood  what  they  owed  their 
country;  and  other  men  who  had  not  thought 
of  that,  but  still  felt  something  intangible  in 
the  air.  For  America  had  called  upon  them 
to  help. 

I  shall  tell  the  story  of  my  old  Battery;  it  is 
the  story  of  every  Battery,  of  every  Company 
throughout  the  United  States;  it  is  the  tale  of 
the  First  Half  Million. 

The  men  came  to  us  from  the  small  towns 
and  cities  of  a  county  in  the  western  part  of 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  21 

New  York  State.  The  total  of  the  first  five 
per  cent,  was  twenty-one  rookies.  One  was  a 
bank  clerk,  another  a  brakeman,  another  a 
waiter;  two  were  lawyers.  There  w^as  a  rubber 
worker,  electricians,  a  chauffeur,  a  hotel  chef, 
a  barber,  a  contractor.  Could  anything  be 
more  democratic? 

In  military  things  they  were  absolutely 
green.  In  about  two  months  we  could  com- 
fortably rely  upon  half  of  these  men  as  fairly 
efficient,  non-commissioned  officers.  Old-time 
soldiers  will  smile  at  this.  Those  who  smile  do 
not  yet  know  what  it  is  possible  to  accomplish 
by  new  intensive  training  that  the  war  has  de- 
veloped. They  do  not  know  that  in  August, 
1914,  England  took  college  men,  trained  them 
day  and  night  for  five  weeks,  and  sent  them 
into  the  field  as  Lieutenants.  That  was  neces- 
sity; the  Lieutenants  were  not  efficient  at  the 
front,  but  they  became  so  in  time.  But  from 
1914  to  1917  the  makers  of  armies  learned 
much.  Our  experiment  in  this  work  was  the 
officers'  training  camps  of  the  past  summer. 
What  was  accomplished  can  be  seen  by  any 
trained  military  observer  who  watches  the  of- 
ficers of  the  Reserve  Corps  moulding  the 
National  Army. 


22  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

Here  is  the  meat  of  it:  Not  a  few"  of  the 
drafted  men  are  of  a  caliber  that  could  have 
won  commissions  in  the  officers'  training 
camps,  and  the  identical  methods  that  were  put 
into  effect  there  by  the  regular  army  instruct- 
ors were  applied  here  in  September  to  some 
few  of  the  draft.    For  this  was  the  situation : 

Our  records  showed  us  that  by  the  first  of 
October  each  Battery  would  have  received  its 
full  war  strength,  193  men.  To  handle  these 
men  there  was  a  Captain  and  four  Lieutenants. 
Where  were  the  non-commissioned  officers 
coming  from?  Our  Battery  got  two  from  the 
Regular  Army ;  we  needed  nearly  fifty.  Allah 
provides  no  non-coms.  Our  Regular  Army 
already  in  France  could  ill  afford  to  spare  any 
of  its  Drill  Sergeants.  It  was  up  to  us  to 
make  our  own.  And  just  as  the  barracks  were 
put  up  overnight,  so  were  the  many  Drill  Ser- 
geants. 

At  the  outset  a  record  was  made  of  every 
man;  his  character  was  studied.  Down  into 
the  Captain's  book  went  certain  information. 
Was  his  intelligence  above  the  average  ?  How 
did  he  respond  to  discipline?  Did  he  uncon- 
sciously have  a  military  bearing,  or  was  it  pos- 
sible to  give  him  one?    Did  he  think  quickly 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  23 

and  accurately,  or  was  he  slow-witted  ?  Did  he 
rattle  ?    What  had  he  done  in  civil  life  ? 

As  swiftly  as  accuracy  w^ould  permit  this 
data  was  obtained.  A  commander  made  men- 
tal notes  as  to  whom  might  be  used  as  non- 
commissioned officers  and  who  not.  Training 
— the  task  of  first  making  the  men  soldiers,  be- 
fore specializing  them  in  artillery  or  infantry 
' — began.  Do  you  know  the  difference  between 
the  American  and  the  German  attitude  toward 
soldiers?  If  you  would  understand  this  Na- 
tional Army,  if  you  would  put  yourself  in  a 
position  to  judge  accurately  what  you  may 
expect  from  your  army,  you  should  under- 
stand that  difference.  It  is  the  key  to  the  sit- 
uation. 

The  Germans  utterly  destroy  a  private's  in- 
dividuality; regard  him  as  a  mere  piece  of 
mechanism.  In  the  training  camps  this  para- 
graph from  United  States  Army  Regulations 
was  impressed  upon  us :  ''Officers  will  keep  in 
as  close  touch  as  possible  with  the  men  under 
their  command  and  will  strive  to  build  up  such 
relations  of  confidence  and  sympathy  as  will 
insure  the  free  approach  of  their  men  to  them 
for  counsel  and  assistance/^ 

That  brings  us  to  the  composite  rookie  of  the 


24  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

National  Army.  Bill  Hawkins,  who  had  gone 
through  the  High  School  of  Olean,  New  York, 
who  had  gotten  a  job  in  the  bank  and  who  had 
never  been  farther  away  from  home  than  New 
York  City  in  his  life,  found  in  the  mail  one 
morning  a  little  slip  telling  him  to  report  at 
an  Exemption  Board  for  physical  examina- 
tion. His  spirits  at  that  time  registered  minus. 
He  had  felt  all  along  that  Tom  and  Jim  would 
be  called,  but  somehow  he'd  miss;  it  simply 
couldn't  be.  It  was  something  like  the  world 
coming  to  an  end. 

To  the  Exemption  Board  Bill  went.  A  doc- 
tor punched  his  ribs,  indeed  gave  Bill  a  very 
trying  quarter  of  an  hour.  Zealous  persons, 
these  small-town  doctors,  so  eager  were  they 
not  to  be  accused  of  wrongly  exempting  men 
that  they  sent  some  to  camp  physically  unfit — 
who  were  returned  to  their  homes.  We  got 
one  man  from  a  Jersey  town  who  had  two 
thumbs  and  six  fingers  on  his  right  hand.  An 
artillery  officer  remarked  that  he  would  be 
useful  on  the  guns  setting  off  data  on  the  in- 
struments with  some  of  his  fingers  and  using 
the  others  for  cleaning  the  lens.  But  the  Divi- 
sional Surgeon  could  not  see  it  that  way,  and 
back  the  rookie  went  to  Palmyra,  N.  J. 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  25 

Of  course,  that  v/as  a  singular  case;  it  is  a 
commentary,  however,  on  the  over-zealousness 
of  rural  doctors.  All  such  cases  were  carefully 
weeded  out  by  the  Army  Surgeons  at  camp  so 
that  the  work  of  training  was  only  begun  with 
men  fit  for  it.  Bill  Hawkins,  for  example, 
from  the  bank  in  Olean,  was  stamped  "O.  K." 
by  the  Army  Surgeon  who  examined  him  as 
soon  as  he  reported  to  camp.  With  Bill  were 
many  men  from  his  home  town ;  for  the  plan  of 
the  organizers  of  the  National  Army  was  to 
assign  men  from  the  same  locality  to  the  same 
regiment.  One  of  the  many  special  trains  that 
on  September  6th  were  hammering  toward 
cantonments  in  all  parts  of  the  country 
brought  Bill  Hawkins  to  Camp  Dix.  He  was 
met  at  the  station  by  a  young  officer  who  wore 
U.  S.  R.  on  his  collar  and  vdio  had  a  steady, 
appraising  eye.  He  marched  Bill  off  with  his 
new  comrades  to  the  barracks.  Here  he  was 
given  a  mess  kit.  From  Napoleon  has  come 
down  the  dictum,  "An  army  marches  on  its 
stomach."  Bill  Hawkins  sat  down  to  a  warm 
meal.  His  first  deep  impression  was  one'  of 
savory  food. 

Presently  he  was  taken  out  in  the  barrack 
yard  with  his  new  comrades  and  lined  up  ac- 


26  OUR  FIRST. HALF  MILLION 

cording  to  height.  This  done,  Bill  was  as- 
signed to  a  temporary  squad  and  was  dis- 
missed with  the  admonition  that  he  remain 
around  quarters.  Were  it  not  for  the  newness 
of  it  all,  his  curiosity  excited,  he  must  have  felt 
depressed.  What  a  sight  that  was!  JMen  in 
all  kinds  of  civilian  attire,  trying  to  keep  some 
kind  of  a  military  line,  but  never  having  been 
taught ;  they  were  quite  hopeless.  It  is  not  the 
most  inspiring  thing  in  the  world  to  be  think- 
ing about  joining  an  army — thoughts  of  trim 
uniforms,  of  bands,  flags — and  then  to  be 
herded  into  a  barrack  yard  in  civilian  clothes. 
It  gives  the  look  of  and  induces  the  feeling  of 
a  mob  of  strikers  or  "down-and-outs"  waiting 
outside  of  a  factory  for  a  job.  It  is  why  offi- 
cers are  invariably  so  anxious  to  get  their  men 
in  uniform. 

Unprepared  as  we  were  for  war,  it  was  little 
short  of  a  miracle  how  we  were  ever  able  to  get 
the  men  into  uniform.  Nobody  was  to  blame. 
The  blame  lay  upon  the  whole  nation,  upon 
our  lack  of  foresight,  upon  our  fatuous  belief 
as  a  people  that  war  could  never  come  to  us, 
upon  our  credulity  in  believing  the  friendly 
assurances  of  the  Imperial  German  Govern- 
ment. 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  27 

Superhuman  efforts  dribbled  supplies  into 
camp,  but  only  America  that  built  a  vast  coun- 
try out  of  the  wilderness  could  have  done  this 
— outfitted  as  many  men  as  we  did  for  war  on 
such  short  notice. 

Bill  Hawkins  was  finally  given  his  outfit. 
He  was  entirely  satisfied  until  he  put  on  the 
Army  shoes;  they  felt  too  big.  Greatly  ex- 
cited, he  sought  a  Lieutenant.  "These  shoes 
are  seven  and  one-half,"  he  said.  "I  wear  sev- 
ens.   Could  I  have  them  exchanged?" 

The  Lieutenant,  who  had  spent  the  summer 
hiking  for  ten  miles  at  a  stretch,  spoke  with 
rare  wisdom — the  wisdom  of  blistered  feet.  "I 
thought  the  same  as  you  do.  Private  Haw- 
kins," he  said,  "and  the  first  march  I  took 
landed  me  in  the  hospital.  Then  I  learned 
that  on  a  stiff  march  the  foot  swells  to  a  size 
one-half  larger.    Keep  the  shoes." 

So,  with  his  American  Army  shoes,  which 
are  the  lightest  and  strongest  in  the  world, 
with  his  canvas  leggings,  khaki  paruts,  woolen 
shirt  to  match,  campaign  hat,  its  jaunty  red 
cord  of  the  Artillery,  the  only  touch  of  color 
about  him.  Bill  Hawkins  fell  in  line  to  get  his 
first  instruction  as  a  soldier.  To  the  tune  of 
"Attention!"       "Right     Face!"       "Forward 


28  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

March!"  "Halt!"  he  began.  He  thought  the 
Lieutenant  in  charge  made  a  lot  of  fuss  over 
nothing. 

*'I  want  you  men,"  said  the  Lieutenant,  "to 
stand  at  attention  with  your  heels  together — 
that  means  together,  not  one  a  quarter  of  an 
inch  ahead  of  the  other.  I  want  you  to  rest  the 
weight  of  the  body  lightly  on  the  balls  of  your 
feet.  Stand  erect,  chest  out,  shoulders  thrown 
back,  stomach  pulled  in,  back  slightly  arched 
at  the  waist.  Head  is  firm,  chin  high,  eyes 
looking  straight  to  the  front.  Hands  hang 
naturally  at  the  sides,  thumbs  just  touching 
the  seam  of  your  trousers.  That  is  called  the 
Position  of  the  Soldier.    Try  it." 

Bill  Hawkins  tried;  he  tried  again;  he  kept 
on  trying;  he  tried  for  half  an  hour.  But  he 
couldn't  see  the  sense  of  it.  Later  in  the  day 
at  a  conference  it  was  explained  to  him. 

"The  work  you  did  to-day,"  said  the  Cap- 
tain, "was  to  give  you  complete  con^ol  of  your 
body  in  drills,  so  you  can  get  around  quickly 
and  easily  at  every  command.  You  all  know 
how  to  walk  and  run,  but  you  don't  know  how 
to  do  it  without  making  extra  work  of  it.  You 
are  being  taught  how  to  walk  at  a  steady  gait. 
Our  military  experts  tried  all  sorts  of  ways 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  29 

before  coming  to  the  conclusion  that  marching 
one  hundred  and  twenty  steps  to  the  minute, 
keeping  the  upper  part  of  the  body  erect,  not 
exerting  it,  will  find  a  man  fresher  at  the  end 
of  a  hard  hike  than  any  other  gait." 

Bill  Hawkins  accepted  this  on  faith,  and 
having  good  stuff  in  him,  made  up  his  mind  to 
get  it  right.  Three  weeks  later  he  was  made  a 
Corporal — but  I  anticipate.  There  were  those 
of  his  comrades,  however,  who  could  see  no 
sense  in  all  this,  who  never  did  a  thing  in  the 
prescribed  way  unless  an  officer  was  standing 
over  them.  But  there  was  always  "kitchen 
police"  for  them  to  do. 

The  next  sensation  Bill  Hawkins  had  was 
the  military  physical  training  drill.  This  gave 
him  a  bad  half  hour.  He  discovered  the  loca- 
tion of  muscles,  the  existence  of  which  he  was 
unaware.  Secretly  he  raged  against  this  exer- 
cise. *'I  came  here  to  fight,"  he  muttered.  He 
had  wondered  what  "Arms  forward  and  up- 
ward raise"  had  to  do  with  war. 

"For  every  man  an  army  has  in  the  hos- 
pital," he  later  heard  the  Captain  say,  "five 
men  are  needed  to  get  him  there  and  take  care 
of  him.  A  fighting  man's  worth  depends  upon 
his  physical  fitness.  He  must  be  strong  enough 


so  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

to  stand  all  kinds  of  physical  strain,  all  kinds 
of  weather,  resist  ail  kinds  of  disease.  Also, 
his  nerves  and  mentality  must  be  in  a  condition 
to  bear  up  under  the  terrific  clamor  of  modern 
battle.  These  physical  training  exercises  make 
you  strong  enough  to  stand  that.  It  is  the  old 
story — the  weak  perish,  the  strong  survive.  I 
take  it  you  all  want  to  survive ;  don't  spoil  your 
chances  by  not  doing  your  exercise  conscien- 
tiously and  neglecting  the  care  of  your  body." 

Bill  Hawkins  understood  and  appreciated. 
Like  most  of  his  comrades  in  the  National 
Army,  he  decided  not  to  be  a  weak  sister.  But 
the  next  day  he  got  an  awful  shock.  He  was 
taught  how  to  salute  and  told  he  would  be  re- 
quired to  salute  all  officers.  Something  rose 
within  him.  He  told  himself  as  he  put  up  his 
hand,  imitating  the  instructor,  that  he  was  only 
doing  this  because  he  was  compelled  to.  Nor 
was  he  alone  in  this.  Back  in  quarters  with 
his  comrades  that  night  a  Irttle  group  began 
to  buzz. 

"I  don't  see  why  we  have  to  be  saluting  all 
the  time.  I  don't  mind  it  once  in  a  while ;  but 
this  putting  your  hand  up  to  your  hat  every 
time  you  see  an  officer,  it's  like  a  servant  or 
something."    There  was  a  chorus  of  muttered 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  31 

assent.  A  generation  of  "I'm  as  good  as  the 
next  man"  thought  was  misinterpreting  the 
salute. 

Bill  Hawkins  made  a  few  resolutions  before 
he  went  to  bed.  He'd  be  "damned"  if  he'd 
salute  all  the  time ! 

The  next  day  he  passed  an  officer;  he  knew 
he  had  been  told  to  salute  officers.  The  officer 
did  not  seem  to  be  looking  at  him.  Bill's 
thought  was,  "Can  I  get  away  with  it?"  He 
failed  to  salute  and  quickened  his  pace. 

"Come  back  here!"  the  officer  called.  Bill, 
feeling  he  was  going  to  be  hung  or  something, 
nervously  awaited  developments. 

"I  want  you  to  realize,"  said  the  officer, 
taking  in  at  a  glance  that  Bill  was  a  recruit, 
"that  you  have  been  the  cause  of  my  disobey- 
ing Army  Regulations.  I  owe  you  a  salute 
and  I  cannot  give  it  to  you.  By  the  Regula- 
tions I  am  compelled  to  salute  every  enlisted 
man.  The  prescribed  form  is  that  the  enlisted 
man  shall  salute  first.  I  cannot  salute  until 
you  have  done  so.  Salute!"  .  .  .  And  Bill 
did. 

Sensing  that  the  strangeness  of  the  men  to 
military  courtesies  would  make  discontent  un- 
less it  was  explained  to  them,  the  Captain 


32  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

called  a  meeting.  He  told  them  the  story  of 
the  salute. 

''In  olden  days,"  he  said,  "a  knight  inva- 
riably kept  on  his  helmet.  Only  when  he  was 
among  friends  would  he  remove  it.  That 
meant  he  was  not  afraid  of  getting  his  head 
split  open  with  a  battle-axe.  From  that,  the 
raising  of  his  hand  to  take  off  his  helmet  has 
come  down  to  us — the  bow  of  civilian  life.  The 
salute  is  the  soldier's  way  of  making  a  bow. 
Officers  are  forbidden  to  take  off  their  hats  to 
women;  they  salute  instead.  That  is  the 
Army's  way  of  doing  it.  So  you  see  there  is 
nothing  subservient,  nothing  degrading  in  the 
salute ;  it  is  merely  common  politeness.  If  you 
weren't  polite  in  civilian  life,  you  will  be  polite 
here,  and  you  will  be  so  much  the  better  men 
for  it.  And  don't  forget  one  thing:  In  the 
old  days,  only  free  men  in  an  army  were  al- 
lowed to  raise  their  hands ;  the  slaves  were  not. 
A  prisoner  in  the  United  States  Army  is  for- 
bidden to  salute." 

That  made  it  easier  for  Bill  Hawkins  and 
his  comrades.  The  salute  was  not  an  invasion 
upon  their  rights  as  free-born  American  citi- 
zens. One  could  go  on  and  tell  of  other  things 
that  Bill  caught  on  to  quickly.    He  began  to 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  3S 

like  the  life.  The  comradeship  began  to  be 
pleasant.  There  was  a  relief  from  financial 
responsibility.  He  was  fed,  he  was  clothed,  he 
was  housed,  the  services  of  a  doctor  were  at 
any  time  free.  He  got  $30  a  month  and  a 
promise  of  more  if  he  v/as  made  a  non-commis- 
sioned officer.  He  made  up  his  mind  to  be  a 
Sergeant.  He  paid  attention  to  everything, 
asked  questions  and,  when  he  got  a  chance,  he 
studied  in  the  military  text-book  that  had  been 
issued  to  him. 

As  the  days  wore  on  he  began  to  get  an  idea 
that  there  was  something  to  the  army  far  more 
interesting  than  mere  mechanical  drill.  He 
began  to  slash  the  air  with  signal  flags,  to  send 
and  read  messages  at  Army  speed.  He  began 
to  get  an  idea  of  the  Field  Guns,  of  the  enor- 
mous power  they  were  capable  of  developing 
and  of  the  uncanny  scientific  accuracy  with 
which  their  shells  can  be  dropped  miles  away. 
He  began  to  love  the  guns.  That  day  he  be- 
came an  Artilleryman.  .  .  . 

It  has  been  my  rare  fortune  to  be  able  to 
hear  the  opinion  of  the  highest  officers  of  our 
Division  on  the  new  men  of  the  l^^ational  Army 
and  of  the  Captains  and  Lieutenants  who  are 
commanding  them — the  men  from  the  Officers' 


S4  3UR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

Training  Camps  of  last  summer.  The  men 
whom  I  heard  speak  are  West  Point  gradu- 
ates, picked  men  of  the  Army;  one  a  General, 
the  other  a  wizard  of  our  General  Staff,  vet-' 
erans  of  war  in  Cuba,  the  Philippines,  Mexico ; 
men  whose  business  it  has  been  to  know  pre- 
cisely what  has  gone  on  in  Europe  since  his- 
tory repeated  itself  and  Germanic  tribes  swept 
down  from  the  north. 

They  were  of  the  opinion  that  the  officers 
from  the  Reserve  Corps  were  highly  efficient 
and  that  .the  calibre  of  the  men  called  into  the 
ranks  of  the  National  Army  being  above  the 
average  of  the  Regular  Army  recruit,  this 
new  iSTational  Army  would  be  the  best  this 
country  ever  had. 

What  we  did  with  our  190-odd  rookies  other 
officers  have  done.  We  sensed  the  caliber  of 
these  men;  we  saw  that  their  spirit  was  right, 
that  they  were  ready  to  play  the  game.  They 
didn't  like  war.  We  Americans  don't  like 
war;  we  like  peace.  But  so  long  as  war  has 
been  forced  upon  us,  so  long  as  the  Hohenzol- 
lerns  have  endangered  our  liberty  as  a  nation, 
why,  the  men  of  the  draft  were  ready. 

It  was  put  up  to  them,  one  night  after  they 
came  to  us ;  they  could  work  out  their  own  sal- 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  36 

vation  and  be  happy  in  the  job,  or  they  could 
have  it  forced  upon  them  and  be  unhappy.  I 
repeat,  they  were  not  conscripts;  they  did  not 
come  here  as  conscripts.  They  came  with  their 
heads  high  and  ready  to  look  you  straight  in 
the  eye,  so.  of  course  they  worked  out  their  own 
salvation.  Their  spirit  is  stirring.  The  little 
things  count.  Against  our  desire  we  were  com- 
pelled to  make  my  first  quota  of  men  do  the 
work  of  furniture  movers,  scrub  women  and 
scullions  for  two  solid  afternoons.  The  bar- 
racks had  to  be  cleansed  and  put  in  shape  for 
a  new  quota  of  the  draft.  But  not  a  man 
grumbled.  When  they  had  worked  for  three 
hours  steady,  some*  of  them  came  up  to  me  and 
asked  if  there  wasn't  something  else  they  could 
do.  Ask  the  woman  how  much  the  average 
man  likes  to*  do  housework.  These  rookies  took 
it  as  being  "all  in  the  game." 

Will  they  make  good  soldiers  ?  Wait  a  few 
months;  w^ait  until  the  horses  come  and  the 
guns  and  caisons  go  rolling  down  the  road.  A 
healthy  life,  the  last  yearnings  for  civilian  hab^ 
its  worn  aw.ay;  regular  hours,,  finely  trained 
bodies,  on  horseback,  that  exhilarating  sensa- 
tion, with  eyes  unconsciously  sweeping  the  ho- 
rizon.    The  Battery  guidon,  a  red  and  gold 


36  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

pennon  snapping  in  the  wind.  Will  they  have 
pride  in  it?  Does  Young  America  have  pride 
in  its  college  flag?  Intensify  that  and  you  will 
get  an  idea  of  the  way  this  army  will  feel. 

Is  it  in  the  American  to  fight?  Have  they 
the  stuff  that  makes  a  first-class  fighting  man? 
Can  a  country  of  civilians  turn  out  an  army  to 
cope  with  the  Kaiser's  war  machine  that  was 
forty  years  building  ?  Yes,  to  everything.  We 
commanders  know.  We  are  here  working  with 
these  men ;  we  know  the  stuff,  and  we  know  the 
spirit. 

Sudden  orders,  a  departure  more  silent  and 
secret  than  Arabs  ever  made ;  an  embarking,  a 
stealing  out  into  the  ocean  with  lights  doused ; 
a  wonderful  feeling  of  security  that  American 
Jackies  somev/here  out  in  the  night  are  swoop- 
ing round  and  round,  the  foam  flying  from  de- 
stroyer prows,  holding  the  pirates  of  Tirpitz 
at  bay.  And  then  of  a  morning,  sunny  France ; 
"Lafayette,  w^  are  here." 


CHAPTER    II 


"making  men" 


In  one  of  those  wooden  barracks  which  is 
housing  a  Division  of  the  new  National  Army 
a  recruit  was  holding  forth. 

"I'll  tell  you  men  something:  I  had  a 
brother.  When  the  war  broke  out  he  skipped 
over  to  Canada  and  joined.  He  is  over  in 
France  now — buried.  I  owe  the  Germans 
something  for  that.  But  that  isn't  why  I  came 
down  here.  Bill,  my  brother,  never  lied.  The 
letters  he  wrote  home  from  the  front — well, 
the  Huns  are  brutes.  The  w^hole  German  race 
is  crazy.  It's  a  mad  dog  loose  in  the  world. 
I'm  here  and  you're  here  to  shoot  it  or  catch  it. 
And  let  me  tell  you  fellows  that  I  didn't  have 
to  come  down.  I  was  exempt,  but  I  went  to 
them  and  told  them  I  wanted  to  come." 

That  was  spoken  in  an  infantry  regiment  at 
Camp  Dix.  It  has  happened  in  every  canton- 
ment where  the  First  Half  Million  is  getting 

37 


88  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

ready  for  Europe.  There  comes  to  mind  an- 
other case.  The  beginning  was  early  in  Au- 
gust at  one  of  the  Reserve  Officers'  Training 
Camps.  A  candidate  for  an  artillery  commis- 
sion was  called  in  front  of  his  instructor.  The 
axe  was  falling;  men  were  being  eliminated. 
The  candidate  was  told  he  had  not  made  good 
and  that  he  would  not  be  commissioned.  He 
replied : 

"All  rights  You  don't  think  I  have  the  stuff 
in  me.  I'll  prove  to  you  I  have.  I'm  going 
down  now  and  enlist  in  the  National  Army. 
I  don't  want  a  recommendation  for  a  Ser- 
geant's job.     I  don't  want  anything." 

That  man,  a  son  of  a  well-to-do  family,  high 
bred,  a  Yale  graduate,  voluntarily  went  down 
as  a  private.  He  made  good  incredibly  fast. 
Hi^  act  was  the  making  of  him.  A  too  casual 
air  had  rightly  deprived  him  of  his  commission. 
It  has  been  replaced  by  one  of  grim  sternness 
of  purpose.  I  thought,  "He  will  get  his  com- 
mission before  this  war  is  over."  .  .  .  He  had 
not  been  at  Camp  Dix  three  months  when  he 
was  given  a  chance  to  earn  it.  Would  he  care 
to  try  for  it  in  a  flying  school  ?  Of  course.  To- 
day he  is  in  Texas  at  a  school  for  flying  offi- 
cers.  .    .    .   Blood  will  tell. 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  39 

What  are  our  new  Reserve  Officers  doing 
with  the  thousands  of  young  American  lives 
that  have  been  entrusted  to  them?  They  are 
working  first  to  develop  an  army  that  will 
cleanse  the  world  of  Hohenzollern  slime.  To 
do  this,  they  are  striving  to  make  efficient  sol- 
diers, and  that  is  dependent  upon  better  man- 
hood, morally  and  physically.  Their  goal  is 
to  return  the  men  of  the  National  Army  to 
their  homes  better  in  every  way  than  when 
they  left  them.    How  is  this  being  done  ? 

What  is  happening  at  our  cantonment  is 
happening  in  every  National  Army  canton- 
ment throughout  the  United  States.  In  the 
first  place,  we're  getting  the  right  man  for  the 
right  job.  No  square  pegs  in  round  holes. 
When  the  recruit  comes  down,  he  faces  an  of- 
ficer who  has  in  front  of  him  a  card  upon 
which  is  printed  nearly  every  known  occupa- 
tion and  profession  and  upon  which  is  space 
for  all  kinds  of  data  concerning  the  recruit. 
This  is  a  permanent  record  of  the  qualifica- 
tions that  the  recruit  brings  to  the  army  from 
civil  life.  The  cards,  a  half  million  of  them, 
are  then  filed.  If  a  Battery  of  Artillery  needs 
two  horseshoers,  the  file  is  consulted  by  a  Per- 
sonnel Officer.   It  is  learned  that  an  Infantry 


40  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

Company  has  two  horseshoers.  On  the  tahles 
of  organization  it  doesn't  need  them.  The  Ar- 
tillery^ Battery  gets  its  two  horseshoers. 

But  putting  the  men  in  the  right  job  doesn't 
stop  there.  Psychological  tests  are  being  con- 
ducted. Curiously  enough,  they  are  the  out- 
growth of  the  psychological  laboratory  exper- 
iments of  the  late  Prof.  Hugo  Munsterburg 
who,  when  he  wasn't  lecturing  at  Harvard, 
was  apologizing  for  the  atrocities  of  his  fellow 
countrymen.  Psychological  laboratories  are 
operating  in  the  National  Army  cantonments. 
Already  it  has  been  determined  that  five  per 
cent,  of  the  drafted  men  have  minds  approach- 
ing genius  and  fitted  to  carry  them  to  the  top 
in  any  calling.  Fifteen  per  cent,  are  above 
normal.  Sixty  per  cent,  are  average — reliable 
American  types  alert  and  capable  but  without 
special  talent.  Fifteen  per  cent,  are  below 
normal,  and  five  per  cent,  more  are  mental 
deficients. 

Thus  we  have  complete  information  to  put 
at  the  disposal  of  an  Artillery  and  an  Infantry 
Commander.  The  "laboratories"  hand  over  to 
him  information  that  the  most  painstaking 
work  of  observation  would  take  months  to  get. 
From  a  report  a  Commander  can  now  tell 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  41 

what  men  he  can  rely  on  in  an  emergency; 
what  men  will  rattle ;  those  who  will  rise  above 
a  situation  and  meet  a  crisis ;  those  whose  nerv- 
ous systems  may  snap  under  the  strain  of  shell 
fire;  those  who  are  unreliable — indeed  what 
not.  Everything  that  science  can  do  is  being 
utilized  to  make  this  National  Army  efficient 
quickly. 

The  first  problem  was  to  take  the  recruit 
and  make  a  soldier  out  of  him.  What  was  a 
civilian's  idea  of  a  soldier?  A  drunk,  a  gam- 
bler, a  roustabout  to  be  barred  when  in  uni- 
form from  the  best  seats  in  our  theaters,  as 
often  happened  to  our  shame  not  Rve  years 
ago.  And  the  conception  a  good  many  of  us 
had  of  a  soldier  that  he  was  a  good-for-nothing 
— that  came  because  the  misdeed  of  one  man 
if  he  be  in  uniform  will  brand  a  thousand  of  his 
comrades  with  the  stigma.  lYo,  a  soldier  isn't 
that.  He  is  a  member  of  the  most  honorable 
profession  in  the  world.  A  good  soldier  is 
thoroughly  conscientious  and  reliable.  Trick- 
ery is  not  in  his  make-up.  If  it  is,  he  sooner 
or  later  finds  his  way  into  a  military  prison. 

So  we  were  handicapped  by  this  conception 
that  America  had  of  the  soldier.  Many  of  the 
men  who  came  down  here  thought  they  were 


42  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

going  into  a  kind  of  prison.  One  can  never 
forget  a  dreary,  rainy  daybreak  that  de- 
bouched them  from  special  trains  into  the  mud 
of  the  camp  siding,  blundering,  bumping  into 
one  another,  trying  to  form  some  kind  of  a 
line  for  roil  call.  It  reminded  one  of  a  Rus- 
sian retreat.  And  then  a  month  later  those 
same  men  swinging  past  a  Commanding  Offi- 
cer on  review  120  steps  to  the  minute,  perfect 
rhj^thm,  improved  poise  of  bodies,  chins  high. 
"No  more  stoop-shouldered  slouching  around 
with  eyes  on  the  ground.  Men  who  took  care 
of  their  uniforms,  kept  them  clean,  had  pride 
in  themselves  and  their  Battery.  That  trans- 
formation came  in  one  month — even  with  the 
Socialists. 

A  National  Army  Captain  reclaimed  a  So- 
cialist. The  Captain  knew  the  man  was  a  So- 
cialist. The  men  who  came  in  the  same  draft 
quota  with  him  said  so.  Military  life  was  in- 
human. The  war  was  schemed  by  Wall  Street. 
He  would  rather  die  for  an  ideal  than  for  none. 
He  would  face  a  firing  squad — for  Socialism. 
Like  most  of  his  kind,  he  came  peacefully  to 
camp,  ate  more  than  his  share  of  the  food,  and 
drilled.    Then  came  the  Great  Thought. 

The  Socialist  caused  a  telegram  to  be  sent  to 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  ^3 

himself.  His  father  was  dead;  his  sister  was 
prostrated  with  grief.  He  showed  the  tele- 
gram to  his  Captain  and  asked  for  a  furlough. 
The  Captain  knew  the  father's  death  to  be 
camouflaged,  but  he  at  once  granted  the  So- 
cialist's request,  and  asked:  "Do  you  need  any 
money?" 

The  Socialist  thought  he  had  enough.  The 
Captain  became  all  kindness. 

"Better  take  this,  old  man,"  and  he  passed 
a  twenty-dollar  bill  into  the  private's  hand. 
Confused,  the  Socialist  left  the  office.  Had  he 
not  been  told  that  military  men  were  inhuman? 
Outside,  he  met  a  Lieutenant  who  was  sorry 
to  hear  of  the  bereavement,  and  pressed  more 
money  upon  him.  The  Socialist  went  to  the 
railroad  station ;  but  an  hour  later  he  was  back 
in  barracks.  He  tossed  the  Captain's  twenty- 
dollar  bill  on  the  table.  "Captain,"  he  said, 
"I'm  a  liar.  My  father  isn't  dead.  My  sister 
isn't  ill.    I  faked  that  telegram." 

"I  knew  you  did,"  the  Captain  replied.  "I 
wanted  to  try  you  out.    I  believed  in  you." 

That  Socialist  is  to-day  a  good  soldier.  One 
could  go  on  and  recount  endless  incidents  of 
men  who  have  found  their  real  selves  in  the 
National    Army.     The    right    stuff    was    in 


44  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

Young  America  all  the  time.  It  was  only 
choking  and  gasping  beneath  the  selfishness  of 
the  life  we  had  come  to  lead  as  a  nation.  War 
is  a  paradox.  It  destroys  and  it  creates.  It 
brings  out  the  best  or  the  worst  in  a  man,  ex- 
aggerating either  quality.  It  does  the  same 
thing  to  the  women  of  a  warring  country,  mak- 
ing them  wantons  or  saints.  War  is  not  all 
black;  there  is  a  good  deal  of  white  in  it. 
There  is  a  great  deal  of  the  beautiful  in  man, 
revealing  itself  in  the  cantonments  of  the  Na- 
tional Army. 

The  officers  are  playing  fair  with  the  men, 
and  they  are  quick  to  respond  to  the  same 
treatment.  There  were  two  college  men  who 
enlisted  and  who  after  a  time  applied  for  a 
furlough  to  visit  their  college  tovv^n.  The  pass 
entitled  them  to  forty-eight  hours.  At  the  end 
of  that  time  they  sent  a  telegram  to  their  Bat- 
tery Commander  which  read:  "Nobody  dead. 
Nobody  dying.  Nobody  sick.  Are  having  a 
fine  time.  Kindly  extend  pass  privileges. 
Kindly  advise  by  wire  collect."  The  reply  was 
a  prepaid  telegram  extending  their  pass. 

The  spirit  suggested  by  this  telegram  is 
slowly  making  its  way  in  the  National  Army. 
The  men  are  getting  to  like  their  officers  and 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  45 

the  officers  to  like  their  men.  The  spirit  of  the 
relation  between  a  French  commander  and  his 
men  seems  unconsciously  to  have  developed 
here.  In  France  the  commander  is  to  his  men 
"My  Captain";  the  men  to  the  Captain  are 
''3Ies  enfants" — gi'eat  big  men-children,  often 
his  superior  physically  and  mentally,  but  still 
''Mes  enfantsf^  That  implies  the  Captain  has 
them  under  his  care.  He  is  looking  out  for 
them.  They  will  get  the  best  food  he  can  give 
them;  the  best  clothing  he  can  wheedle  out  of 
the  Supply  Officer;  the  most  privileges  con- 
sistent w^ith  military  discipline  he  can  allow 
them.  And  the  men  know  this.  They  know 
that  he  does  not  regard  them  as  mere  machines, 
as  "conscripts."  Confound  the  first  writer  in 
this  country  who  applied  that  word  to  the 
National  Army! 

And  the  Reserve  Officers  are  looking  after 
the  men  under  them  in  a  practical  way.  For 
an  hour  every  day  the  men  are  put  through 
rigorous  physical  exercises.  They  are  given 
talks  on  personal  hygiene. 

And  have  you  ever  heard  of  a  "moral  pro- 
phylactic"? It  is  being  administered  to  every 
soldier  in  the  National  Army.  Venereal  dis- 
ease   impairs    the    fighting    efficiency    of    an 


46  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

army  and  it  ultimately  impairs  the  man  and 
womanhood  of  a  nation.  My  intent  is  not  a 
medical  discussion,  but  enough  holes  have  been 
shot  in  the  Conspiracy  of  Silence,  which  for 
generations  we  were  prone  to  wage  against  our 
children,  to  allow  some  light  to  come  through. 
A  man  who  has  been  sexually  diseased  affects 
his  offspring  or  the  children  of  his  offspring. 
And  in  the  majority  of  cases  he  injures  his 
own  health.  When  this  war  is  done,  healthy 
manhood  will  be  too  precious  a  thing  for  any 
of  it  to  be  wasted. 

To  that  end,  a  campaign  of  enlightenment 
is  being  carried  on  in  the  National  Army 
camps.  The  Conspiracy  of  Silence  is  being 
broken.  Moral  prophylactics  are  being  ad- 
ministered, and,  should  they  fail,  a  soldier  must 
take  a  physical  prophylactic  or  be  court  mar- 
tialled. 

The  part  that  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  is  playing  in 
developing  the  spirit  of  the  new  army  is  of 
great  importance.  It  is  dealing  in  practical 
religion.  If  there  is  one  thing  this  war  has 
done  it  has  delivered  a  terrific  blow  at  theology 
and  has  breathed  big  new  life  into  religion.  It 
has  turned  man's  thoughts  in  a  common  chan- 
nel unimpeded  in  their  flow  toward  God  by  the 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  47 

obstacles  that  creeds  have  barraffed.  The  work 
of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  in  the  cantonment  sug- 
gests that.  To  be  religious,  one  no  longer  has 
to  be  unhappy.  On  Sundays  one  may  smile, 
one  may  even  sing  the  songs  of  the  day,  one 
may  even  dance  without  being  damned.  Do 
you  know  what  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  did  of  a  Sun- 
day in  a  National  Army  cantonment?  They 
put  on  Anna  Held  and  sixteen  Broadway 
show  girls.  Then  the  only  Anna  sang  and  the 
show  girls  went  through  the  evolutions  of  the 
chorus. 

Picture  that  scene.  A  wooden  Y.  M.  C.  A, 
shack,  distinguished  from  the  other  buildings 
of  the  camp  by  its  coat  of  green  paint.  A 
little  stage  from  which  in  the  morning  a  noted 
clergyman  had  spoken  to  a  "small  but  enthusi- 
astic audience."  The  afternoon  at  four  o'clock 
Anna  Held  appeared  the  place  was  jammed. 
Soldiers  had  climbed  up  on  the  rafters  and, 
after  she  had  sung  in  her  gay  mood,  she 
changed  of  a  sudden.  Her  face  changed,  her 
expression  too.  There  came  into  it  the  spir- 
itual. We  hadn't  known  her  any  more  than 
we  had  known  France.  She  began  to  recite. 
It  was  a  poem  to  the  defenders  of  Verdun. 
She  spoke  it  in  French.     Not  one  man  in 


48  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

twenty  could  understand  it,  but  they  followed 
her  breathlessly — her  face!  And  tears  came 
into  her  eyes  as  she  spoke  of  the  French  dead. 
One  could  have  heard  the  faintest  sound  in 
that  hall.  One  did  hear  a  sound  as  if  some- 
thing intangible  moved.  It  was  the  thought  of 
sacrifice.  Our  soldiers  could  not  understand 
her  words,  but  they  could  read  her  face.  They 
could  see  that  she  was  in  anguish  at  the 
thought  of  the  sacrifices  her  beloved  France 
had  made  to  keep  the  Hun  at  bay.  And  that 
which  moved  in  the  air,  that  which  went  out  to 
her  was  an  unspoken  pledge  from  those  sol- 
diers who  were  coming  to  help  her  land.  The 
same  sort  of  pledge  which  prompted  one  man 
to  write  home:  "It  is  impossible  for  me  to  ex- 
press the  feeling  that  is  within  me."  That  was 
some  of  the  feeling  unloosened  in  that  shack. 
That  was  the  very  essence  of  religion — sac- 
rifice. 

The  Y.  M.  C.  A.  has  gone  to  grips  in  a  fight 
with  the  army  of  vice.  Now  the  forces  of  vice 
are  often  more  dangerous  than  the  enemies' 
bullets.  They  break  down  a  man's  moral  fiber. 
They  lead  him  to  the  lie,  the  fraud,  the  theft, 
sometimes  to  murder,  and  surely  sooner  or 
later  to  the  hospital.    All  that  is  bad  from  a 


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OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  '49 

military  point  of  view  and  for  the  race.  The 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  has  tackled  the  problem,  man 
fashion.  What  has  attracted  soldiers?  Why 
is  it  they  preferred  to  go  to  cities  instead  of  to 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  buildings?  Because  they  are  en- 
tertained in  the  cities  and  bored  by  the  "up- 
lift" entertainment.  What  bores  them?  Con- 
tinually being  told  how  they  must  live  if  they 
would  be  saved.  A  soldier  spends  six  days  in 
the  week  continually  being  told  how  to  do 
things.  On  the  seventh  he  doesn't  want  to  be 
told  to  do  anything.  That  may  not  be  theol- 
ogy, but  it  is  human  nature. 

With  that  fundamental,  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  has 
set  up  counter  attractions  to  the  cities  and  their 
temptations.  It  is  keeping  the  soldiers  in 
camp,  not  by  boring  them  with  interminable 
sermons  and  the  psalm-singing  on  Sundaj^-. 
Rather  it  is  putting  on  good  shows.  Anna 
Held,  boxing  bouts,  motion  pictures,  clog 
dances.  And  they  reach  the  soldier.  He  gets 
in  the  habit  of  coming  to  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.,  and 
there  he  unconsciously  yields  to  its  Christian 
influences  instead  of  having  them  jammed 
down  his  throat.  In  other  words,  the  Y.  JM. 
C.  A.'s  shacks  are  made  attractive  places  for 
him  to  visit,  and,  once  there,  he  is  in  an  atmos- 


50  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

phere  that  is  clean.  He  comes  in  contact  with 
the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  workers  who  he  finds  are 
not  "Stiffs,"  "Mamma-boys,"  but  who  are  good 
husky  men,  willing  to  put  on  the  gloves  with 
him,  poke  him  one  in  the  eye  and  take  one  in 
return,  and  not  be  ashamed  of  God.  That  is 
practical  Christianity,  That  is  the  brand  de- 
veloped by  the  British  army  at  the  front.  That 
is  the  kind  that  is  slowly  going  to  make  the 
National  Army  men  better. 

The  old  barbaric  gods  of  the  Northland  are 
amuck  again  in  the  world.  Again  the  Teu- 
tonic tribes  are  swooping  down,  ravaging  fair 
lands.  They  have  done  so  throughout  all 
known  European  history.  Only  now  their 
greed  and  lust  for  conquest  is  vaster.  They 
are  looking  beyond  France,  beyond  England, 
across  the  sea  to  us.  They  have  crushed  Bel- 
gium, Servia,  Russia,  Roumania.  It  rests  with 
us.  France  and  England  are  holding  them  at 
bay,  until  we  come — and  we're  coming  with 
men. 


CHAPTER    III 


"the  army  laughs" 


Soldiers  work  hard,  and  they  would  play- 
hard — if  they  could.  They  have  their  griev- 
ances and  their  laughs.  They  invariably 
grumble  about  their  "mess,"  no  matter  how 
good  it  is.  For  that  is  expected  of  the  old  sol- 
dier, and  in  three  months  our  National  Army 
boys  became  quite  experienced  and  blase.  The 
civilian  population  could  be  wondering  where 
it  was  going  to  buy  a  pound  of  sugar — when 
Hoover's  conservation  went  into  effect — but  if 
Sammy  of  the  National  Army  didn't  get  the 
regular  Quartermaster  allowance  every  morn- 
ing in  his  oatmeal  and  coffee  there  was  a  row. 
And  it's  surprising  how  quickly  they  caught 
on — ^just  what  the  allowances  were,  just  what 
they  should  receive  for  their  ration  if  the  Mess 
Sergeant  was  on  the  job.  Also,  no  matter 
how  efficient  he  may  be,  a  Mess  Sergeant  is 

always  a  failure  in  the  eyes  of  the  men. 

51 


52  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

"He  hands  us  hash  and  fries  himself  eggs, 
on  the  side — the  burglar!"  Often  that  is  a 
morning  salutation.  Now  to  rise  at  six  and  to 
stand  reveille  in  the  cold  is  never  pleasing  to 
some,  no  matter  how  long  they  have  been  doing 
it.  And  so  at  breakfast  the  grouches  bloom; 
and  so  with  the  bugles  calling  to  morning  drill, 
with  the  after-breakfast  cigarettes  mellowing 
the  atmosphere,  the  gloom  is  ironed  out  and 
the  laughs  begin.  For  laughs  there  are  in  the 
National  Army,  whole  rolling  torrents  of 
them. 

Paterson,  New  Jersey,  sent  the  foreign-born 
from  its  silk  mills  to  Camp  Dix.  See  them 
standing  one  morning  in  the  barrack  yard  of 
an  artillery  regiment.  See  that  little  Italian 
in  the  front  rank,  his  chest  stuck  'way  out,  his 
stomach  too,  in  a  sincere,  if  wrong,  effort  to 
stand  as  a  soldier  at  attention.  Now  at  the 
command,  "Count  off!"  the  men  turn  head  and 
eyes  to  the  right  and  each  calls  out  his  number 
as  soon  as  the  man  next  to  him  has  spoken. 
Facing  the  Battery  stood  the  Captain. 

"Count  off!"  he  commanded. 

One  after  another  the  men  sounded  off; 
"One — two — three — four !  One — two — three 
— four!    One — two — three — four!    Seea?  hun- 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  63 

dred  twenf-niner  The  Captain's  eyes  picked 
up  the  offender — the  little  Italian  with  his 
chest  and  stomach  bravely  pushed  out. 

"Count  off!"  the  Captain  ordered  again, 
satisfying  himself  that  the  Italian  had  tried  no 
* 'horsing." 

And  again  they  sounded  off:  "One — two — 
three — four!"  and  so  on  until  it  came  to  the 
Italian,  and  then  very  earnestly  ''Seeoo-hun- 
dred  twenf-nine!"  A  man  in  the  rear  rank 
snickered.  The  Captain  looked  stern.  He 
took  a  few  steps  toward  the  little  Italian,  who, 
like  a  statue,  stood  with  his  body  so  absurdly 
thrust  forward. 

"Say,  Recruit  Mongelli,"  said  the  Captain, 
"what's  wrong  with  you?  You  ought  to  know 
your  number  by  now.    What  is  it?" 

"Seex  hundred  twenf-niner  exploded  the 
Italian.  The  Captain  hesitated,  deliberating 
upon  the  guard  house.  A  look  of  alarm  en- 
tered the  Italian's  face.  ''Mio  Capitaine"  he 
said,  eager  to  please.  "You  aska  me  mia  num- 
ber, la  tella  you  seex  hundred  twent'-nine^ 
For  fiva  year  I  work  ina  the  silk  factory.  Mia 
nomero  there  alway  seex  hundred  twent'- 
nine."    The  Captain  threw  up  his  hands. 

Now,  just  as  in  college  or  prep  school,  when 


54.  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

a  new  boy  comes  there  is  fun  at  his  expense, 
so  did  some  of  the  Non- Commissioned  officers 
sent  by  the  Regular  Ai-my  to  help  the  Na- 
tional Army  get  going  have  their  fun  with  the 
"rookies."  And  oddly  enough  there  was  a 
spirit  in  the  National  Army  that  was  bigger. 
For  when  the  second  group  of  the  draft  came 
to  cantonment  the  drafted  men  who  had  been 
there  some  months  before  them  did  ail  they 
could  to  help  and  make  things  pleasant  for  the 
newcomers.  They  showed  them  the  ropes  in- 
stead of  tying  them  up  in  them.  But  not  some 
of  the  Non-Commissioned  from  the  Regulars; 
they  had  to  have  their  bit  of  horse-play  with 
the  rookies. 

Now,  as  you  know,  reveille  is  the  name  of 
that  accursed  bugle  call  which  turns  a  man 
out  of  a  warm  bed  into  a  cold  morning. 

One  day  there  appeared  before  a  veteran 
Sergeant  on  duty  in  the  Regimental  Supply 
Office  a  rookie,  who  asked:  "Please,  sir,  give 
me  some  reveille  oil." 

"Some  what?"  exploded  the  old  Sergeant. 

"Reveille  oil,"  repeated  the  recruit;  and, 
eager  to  air  some  newly  acquired  wisdom,  he 
went  on:  "It's  an  oil  used  to  fix  up  a  bugle 
so  it'll  blovv^  all  right  on  cold  mornings." 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  C5 

The  Sergeant  bit  on  his  lip.  "Who  told  you 
that,  sonny?"  he  asked. 

"Corporal  McChiskey,  sir,"  the  rookie  re- 
plied; "and  he  said  that  you  didn't  like  to  give 
out  reveille  oil,  that  it  was  so  scarce,  but  for 
me  to  be  sure  and  not  to  come  back  without  it." 

"Hm,"  mused  the  old  Sergeant.  "Well, 
sonny,  you  go  back  to  Corporal  McChiskey 
and  tell  him  that  we're  all  out  of  reveille  oil, 
but  that  we've  got  a  hundred  yards  of  skirmish 
line  if  he  wants  it."  And  "skirmish  line," 
should  you  not  know,  is  the  "firing  line." 

"Guess  that'll  fix  IMcChiskey,"  growled  the 
Sergeant,  and  went  on  with  his  work. 

Yes,  the  rookies  had  their  little  troubles  at 
the  start,  and — bless  them! — they  gave  the 
overworked  officers  many  a  silent  laugh.  They 
gave  the  Mustering  Officers  laughs.  I  know; 
I  have  been  a  Mustering  Officer. 

Every  soldier  enrolled  in  a  regiment  must  be 
quizzed  by  the  INIustering  Officer  and  his  as- 
sistants, and  a  thousand  confounded  papers 
filled  out  for  him.  There  is  one  document  in 
particular  that  gives  trouble.  It  is  the  card 
for  the  "Designation  of  Beneficiary."  Upon 
that  is  recorded  for  the  soldier  the  person  he 
wishes  notified  and  to  receive  any  monev  that 


56  pUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

may  be  due  from  the  Government  in  the  event 
of  the  soldier's  death.  To  a  rookie  one  doesn't 
use  the  word  "death."  One  tries  to  be  more 
diplomatic.  To  a  big  Irish  recruit  a  Muster- 
ing Officer  said:  "Now,  whom  do  you  wish 
to  designate  as  j^our  beneficiary?" 
"Me  what?" 

"Your  beneficiary.  Now  suppose,"  and  the 
lieutenant  went  on  patiently,  although  it  was 
the  four  hundred  and  nineteenth  man  who 
had  stood  before  him  in  a  last  sleepless  twenty- 
four  hours.  "Now  suppose  anything  were  to 
happen  to  you.  Suppose  a  wagon  were  to  run 
over  you,  whom  would  you  want  to  be  no- 
tified?" 

"The  priest— Father  McMahon." 

"No,"  the  Lieutenant  explained;  "not  the 

priest,  but — er "  And  throwing  tact  aside, 

he  rushed  to  the  point:  "Suppose  you  were 
wounded — got  hit  with  a  bullet — see?  Who 
would  you  w^ant  notified — some  person  who'd 
come  first  into  your  mind  whom  you'd  want 
told?" 

"Oh,  I  get  you  now!"  chuckled  the  Irish- 
man. "The  doctor.  Always  notify  the  doc- 
tor." Uttering  a  low  moan,  the  Lieutenant 
collapsed. 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  67 

And  they  wonder  why  Mustering  Officers 
go  mad?  I've  always  suspected  that  Irishman. 

Not  so  long  ago  I  mustered  in  a  Battalion 
of  a  A^egi'o  regiment,  all  of  them  rookies  of 
the  draft.  Their  casual  outlook  upon  life  w^as 
delightful. 

"Recruit  Perkins,"  I  asked  one,  "are  you 
married  or  single?" 

"Single,  suh,  but  Ah's  done  mah  duty,  suh — 
three  children,  suh." 

There  came  another:  "Recruit  Pinckney. 
Married  or  single?" 

"Waal,  Ah  was  married,  boss,  but  mah  wife 
she  done  went  up  and  went  over  the  hill  with 
some  no-'count  coon." 

"Are  you  divorced?"  I  asked  him. 

"No,  boss,  not  exactly  that ;  but  Ah'm  mar- 
ried again;  not  exactly  married — but  Ah's 
mighty  comfortable,  boss — mighty  comfort- 
able." 

Their  emotions  are  as  transient  as  children's, 
the  lesser  educated  of  our  Negro  soldiers,  while 
their  comrades  who  have  gone  to  the  public 
schools  and  higher  are  extremely  dignified, 
filled  with  ambition,  reliable,  whollv  trust- 
worthy,  and  eager  to  do  their  part  for  Amer- 
ica.    One  records  these  qualities  for  the  sur- 


58  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

face  judgment  of  a  ISTegro  regiment  is  often 
grosslj^  unfair.  Popularly  it  is  supposed  to  be 
a  gathering  of  likable  but  wholly  irresponsible 
children  of  the  Southland,  who  invariably 
spend  their  time  off  drill  with  craps,  clog 
dancing,  wild  women,  and  razors.  That's  a 
libel,  for  I  know  in  my  own  Battery  there  were 
more  men  studying  how  to  become  Non- Com- 
missioned officers  than  there  were  m.en  for 
whom  life  was  one  long  "moon  an'  rag." 

But  they  made  the  fun,  and  as  fun  it  is  re- 
corded. One  of  our  men  had  in  civilian  life 
been  a  Pullman  porter.  Well,  anything  that 
comes  to  a  Pullman  porter  belongs  to  him. 
When  the  porter  was  told  that  his  services 
would  be  more  valuable  to  the  nation  in  the 
army  than  brushing  the  life  out  of  passengers' 
coats,  to  Camp  Dix  he  went.  His  w^ife  stayed 
home.  Also,  being  a  Pullman  porter,  he  left 
stacks  of  money  in  the  bank.  He  wrote  his 
wife  to  draw  some  of  this  money  and  come 
down  to  visit  him  at  camp.  He'd  meet  her  at 
Trenton  early  Saturday  afternoon,  and  they'd 
do  the  Jersey  capital  until  Sunday  evening, 
when  his  pass  would  be  up  and  he'd  have  to  re- 
turn to  camp. 

His  newly  acquired  chum  in  the  battery  was 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  59 

a  tall,  handsome  young  'Negro,  called  "Buck." 
*'Buck"  had  only  thrown  trunks  around  for  the 
railroad,  not  passengers'  clothing,  so  Buck 
didn't  begin  to  have  the  Pullman  porter's  roll. 
Woe  of  woes  on  the  morning  of  the  Saturday 
when  the  porter's  wife  was  to  come!  For  he 
was  taken  sick  and  sent  to  the  Regimental  In- 
firmary. 

"Grippe,"  pronounced  our  Medical  Cap- 
tain.   "You  will  remain  here  in  bed." 

What  was  the  poor  fellow  to  do?  His  wife 
coming  all  the  way  from  Wilmington  and  he 
not  at  Trenton  to  meet  her!  He  had  an  in- 
spiration. He  sent  for  his  new  chum,  "Buck." 
He  asked  Buck,  as  a  great  favor,  to  spend  his 
Saturday  half -holiday  going  over  to  Trenton 
to  meet  the  wife.  Buck  demurred  until,  lured 
by  the  thoughts  of  a  twenty-mile  drive  in  a 
"jitney"  to  Trenton  and  back  to  camp — which 
the  helpless  porter  agreed  to  pay  for.  On 
Saturday,  promptly  at  12:15,  Buck,  after  be- 
ing inspected  by  an  officer,  who  verified  he  was 
properly  uniformed,  left  the  barracks  for 
Trenton. 

Three  o'clock  no  word  from  Buck.  Four 
o'clock  and  the  Pullman  porter  began  to  get 
worried.     Six  o'clock,  no  word — not  even  a 


60  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

telephone  message.  Nine  o'clock  that  night 
and  the  porter  was  for  leaping  out  of  the  in- 
firmary bed.  Ten  o'clock  and,  calling  for 
an  attendant,  he  dashed  off  a  telegram  and 
begged  him  to  send  it  off  for  him.  With  a 
grin  the  attendant — before  drafted  having 
been  a  bellhop — held  him  up  for  a  dollar  and 
read  the  telegram  as  he  left  the  room.  It  was 
to  the  porter's  father-in-law.    It  said; 


^^ Advise  me  immediately  of  the  where- 
abouts of  your  daughter/' 


The  next  day  no  word — nor  the  next.  To 
make  matters  worse,  the  porter  had  been  sent 
back  to  his  barracks,  and  his  "bunkies,"  who 
were  now  on  to  the  happenings,  consoled  him 
— thus  delicately.  ''Yo'  ought  t'  have  known 
better  dan  t'  let  yo'  wife  meet  Buck.  Look 
out  for  dem  big  black  babies !" 

On  Tuesday  night  the  wandering  Buck  re- 
turned. He  went  straight  to  the  hospital, 
complaining  of  a  pain  in  the  stomach  and 
**aphasia." 

"Honest  t'  Gawd,  doctor,"  pleaded  Buck, 
"that  fool  nigger'll  kill  me  if  Ah  goes  to  th' 
barracks.     Ah  didn't  even  see  his  wife.     Ah 


OUR  FIK^T  HALF  MILLION  61 

goes  t'  Trenton  an'  Ah  gets  aphasia,  some- 
thin'  awful,  doctor — yes,  sir,  awful!"  .  .  .  And 
the  Pullman  porter  to  this  day  doesn't  know 
whether  to  believe  his  wife  or  not,  who  we 
heard  wrote  him  that  she  had  changed  her 
mind  and  stayed  in  Wilmington.  .  .  .  Now 
with  w^hite  troops  that  would  probably  have 
meant  a  big  row,  but  all  it  produced  was: 
"Look  out  fo'  Buck.  He's  one  of  dem  big 
black  babies." 

But  to  be  fair  to  our  men,  not  forgetting 
that  this  little  affaire  de  coeur  had  for  its  chief 
actors  two  of  our  worst  and  most  ignorant 
men,  one  recalls  a  white  soldier  who  got  just  as 
hard  a  shock  as  the  Pullman  porter  must  have 
had. 

For  days  Private  Runney  had  been  bother- 
ing his  Captain.  "Have  I  the  Captain's  per- 
mission to  speak  to  the  Colonel?"  Private 
Runney  declined  to  tell  the  Captain  w^hy  he 
wanted  to  see  the  Colonel,  but  insisted  that  it 
was  something  of  grave  importance.  Finally 
to  get  rid  of  him — for  the  man  had  become  a 
nuisance,  hovering  in  the  vicinity  of  an  orderly 
room  whenever  he  was  off  duty — the  Captain 
took  him  in  to  see  the  Colonel.  Private  Run- 
ney very  mysteriously  sidled  up  to  the  Colonel. 


62  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

"Last  Tuescla37'  night,  sir,"  the  private  said, 
"the  Lord  spoke  to  me.  He  told  me  that  I 
should  not  drill." 

"V/hat  time  was  this?"  asked  the  Colonel. 

"It  was  about  midnight,  sir,  when  I  heard 
the  Lord's  voice  forbidding  me  to  drill." 

"Don't  worry,  Private  Runney,"  said  the 
Colonel,  perfectly  seriously.  "I  was  talking  to 
the  Lord  about  you,  two  hours  after  he  spoke 
to  you.  And  the  Lord  told  me  that  I  was  to 
drill  you  hard,  because  your  mind  is  on  some- 
thing else.  So,  Saturday  afternoon.  Private 
Runney^  drill.  The  Lord's  will,  not  ours,  be 
done."  .   .   . 

It  is  while  he  is  on  duty  as  a  sentry  that  the 
rookie  makes  the  fun.  I  recall  a  Captain  of 
Infantry,  himself  no  conventional  character, 
now  no  longer  in  the  service,  so  he  may  be 
noted.  Assigned  to  one  of  the  National  Army 
camps  the  man  who  in  civil  life  had  been  a 
brilliant  lawyer  early  made  a  reputation  as  an 
eccentric.  Invited  to  a  dinner  in  a  pretentious 
house  near  the  cantonment,  he  made  a  sensa- 
tion, when  the  hostess,  never  dreaming  that  she 
would  be  taken  up,  told  her  officer  guests,  as 
a  joke,  that  they  might  take  anything  out  of 
her  house  that  appealed  to  them  for  furnish- 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  63 

ing  their  rooms  at  camp.  What  she  was  doing 
was  having  a  quiet  little  joke,  comparing  her 
guests  to  the  staff  of  His  Imperial  Highness, 
Friedrich  Wilhelm  of  Prussia  who,  upon 
lunching  in  a  French  chateau,  appropriated 
after  coffee  all  the  silverware.  All  got  the 
point,  except  this  Captain,  who  had  been  a 
lawyer,  and  he,  taking  his  hostess  seriously, 
made  a  minute  examination  of  all  the  effects 
of  the  house  and  then  quite  gravely  informed 
her: 

"Madame,    Captain    X accepts    your 

kind  offer  and  will  take  the  bowl  of  goldfish 
in  your  sun  parlor  for  his  room." 

His  hostess  was  shocked  but  game,  and  the 
next  day  delivered  up  the  bowl  of  goldfish  that 
the  Captain's  orderly  promptly  called  for. 
Yes,  I  said,  he  had  been  a  lawyer.  That  be- 
gan the  Captain's  reputation  for  doing  the  un- 
expected. He  enhanced  it  the  day  sixty-odd 
new  recruits  were  assigned  to  his  company. 
Lining  them  up,  he  said: 

"I  suppose  all  you  men  have  brought  your 
goldfish  to  camp  with  you.  Any  goldfish  food 
that  you  have  left  over  after  feeding  your  pets, 
bring  into  the  orderly  room  for  our  fish  there. 
.    .    .  Dismissed."     The  recruits  stared  at  each 


64.  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

other  blankly  as  they  plodded  into  barracks. 
''Nut,"  some  one  said. 

There  was  a  shortage  of  rifles  then — it  was 
in  September.  The  Captain  who  may  have 
been  a  good  lawyer  sent  to  a  near-by  city  for 
two  gross  of  baseball  bats.  He  would  only 
have  the  best  "Louisville  Sluggers,"  over  a 
hundred  dollars'  worth.  And  he  began  to 
teach  his  company  the  Manual  of  Arms  with 
baseball  bats  for  rifles.  One  day  he  lectured 
to  them  on  "Guard  Duty." 

"I'm  going  to  post  a  guard  of  three  privates 
and  two  Corporals  to-night,"  he  explained,  "in 
the  empty  barracks.  You  will  be  armed  with 
baseball  bats.  If  any  one  attempts  to  enter 
that  building  without  authority,  I  want  you  to 
beat  them  up — remember  that,  beat  them  up — 
no  matter  who  they  say  they  are ;  no  matter  if 

they  say  they're  me — Captain  X himself. 

I  want  you  men  to  get  trained  in  the  idea  that 
as  sentry  you're  boss;  that  you  cannot  be 
trifled  with." 

So  far  so  good.     But  that  night  Captain 

X had  a  Big  Idea.    In  his  room  he  slyly 

stripped  off  all  insignia  of  his  rank.  He  took 
the  officer's  cord  from  his  hat.  He  slipped  on 
a  raincoat,  which  bears  no  stripings  of  rank. 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  65 

He  took  off  his  puttees  and  sent  over  to  the 
supply  office  for  a  pair  of  soldier's  canvas  leg- 
gings. Thus  altered,  he  set  out  at  midnight. 
He  would  catch  his  guard  asleep  and  give 
them  the  devil.  Cautiously  stalking  about  the 
empty  barracks,  seeing  no  sign  of  a  sentry,  he 
slid  along  the  outer  wall  and  gently  pushed 
open  a  window. 

"Wonder  what  that  damned  fool's  up  to," 
thought  the  sentry. 

By  George,  the  fellow  had  opened  the  win- 
dow !    He  was  trying  to  get  in ! 

**Corporal  of  the  Guard!"  shouted  the 
sentry. 

In  vain  had  the  Captain  tried  to  spring  over 
the  high  window  ledge  into  the  room.  There 
he  hung,  head  and  shoulders  inside  the  room, 
legs  dangling  outside.  A  baseball  bat  rang 
against  his  pants.  The  sentry  was  obeying  his 
orders. 

"Ouch!"    cried    Captain    X .      Down 

crashed  the  bat  again.     "Stop  it,  you  idiot! 
I'm  Captain  X ." 

"That's  all  bunk!"  cried  the  sentry.  "Our 
Captain  warned  us  against  stalls  like  that!" 
And  away  he  clouted  at  the  Captain's  pants. 
The  Corporal  came  up  with  his  guard,  and 


66  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

they  all  belabored  him,  with  the  Captain  now 
shouting:  "That's  the  way,  men.  That's  be- 
ing on  the  job — ouch! — you're  right,  men. 
.  .  .  Damn!  .  .  .  That's  the  way  to  be  sen- 
tries. .  .  .  Hell's  bells!  .  .  .  Fine,  men!"  .  .  . 
The  next  day  a  board  of  alienists  sat  on  the 

case  of  Captain  X and  he  was  retired  to 

civil  life. 

These  ferocious  sentries  have  a  way  of 
boomeranging.  There  was  one  Brigadier  Gen- 
eral at  Camp  Ayer  who  had  a  reputation  for 
sentries  throughout  all  that  New  England  Di- 
vision. His  sentries  challenged  anybody  and 
anything  after  taps ;  stopped  motor  cars,  even 
if  they  were  labelled  all  over  with  U.  S.; 
stopped  officers  going  from  one  barrack  to  an- 
other; made  themselves  just  as  lordly  as  sen- 
tries can  be.  One  day  the  General  himself  was 
making  the  rounds.  As  he  approached  a  sen- 
try on  Post  4,  the  sentry  failed  to  salute. 

"Don't  you  know  that  I'm  an  officer?"  cau- 
tioned the  General. 

Coolly  the  rookie  looked  over  the  General, 
and  then  replied  icily:  "I'm  not  acquainted 
with  you." 

Really,  these  days  the  life  of  a  General  is 
sometimes  hard.    I  know  of  one  in  a  Southern 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  67 

camp — one  dares  not  breathe  his  name — who 
got  the  shock  of  his  life  from  a  National 
Army  rookie,  of  the  Quartermaster  Corps, 
too!  The  trouble  was  all  due  to  the  color  of 
the  hat  cord.  The  Quartermaster  Corps — or 
Q.  JNI.,  as  they  are  known — wear  a  hat  cord 
of  a  yellowish  shade,  disconcertingly  akin  to  a 
GeneraFs.  Also,  the  Q,  M.  not  being  the 
line,"  one  is  apt  to  find  both  officers  and  men 
of  quite  generous  girth  among  the  Q.  M.'s. 
There  was  one  such,  a  rookie.  For  a  week 
Fatty  had  mistaken  every  Q.  M.  hat  cord  for  a 
General's,  and  he  was  saluting  his  arm  off. 

"This  camp  is  full  of  Generals,"  he  com- 
plained one  night  to  a  "bunkie";  so  his  new- 
found chum  tipped  him  off 

"You've  been  saluting  nothing  but  privates, 
like  yourself." 

"The  hell  I  have!"  Fatty  roared  indig- 
nantly. 

"Sure;  the  Q.M.  hat  cord  looks  just  like  a 
General's." 

"Huh,"  grunted  Fatty,  vowing  to  lay  for 
the  next  Q.M.  private  who  tried  to  put  it  over 
on  him.  A  few  days  later  a  pleasantly  plump 
man  in  his  fifties  wearing  a  golden  hat  cord 


68  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

sauntered  down  by  the  Quartermaster  sheds, 
casually  looking  them  over. 

*'See  here.  Private,"  admonished  the  stran- 
ger, stepping  in  front  of  Fatty.  "Don't  you 
know  enough  to  salute  when  you  see  me?" 

"You  bet  I  do,  you  old  lollop!"  snorted 
Fatty.  "You  don't  fool  me  on  any  of  that 
stuff  any  more.  I'm  wise.  See?"  and  deri- 
sively he  wriggled  his  fingers  against  his  nose. 
Aghast,  the  stranger  contemplated  him. 

'Don't  you  know  who  I  am?" 
'You  bet  I  know,"  chuckled  Fatty;  "you're 
one  of  those  Quartermaster  birds  that  wears  a 
hat  cord  somethin'  like  a  General's  and  tries  to 
pose  as  a  General  to  pull  down  salutes.  Beat 
it.    I'm  busy  with  these  beans." 

Two  hours  later  Fatty  received  an  impera- 
tive summons  to  report  in  the  Aides'  Office  at 
Division  Headquarters.  There  he  was  met  by 
a  grieved-looking  young  officer  who  led  him 
into  the  presence  of  "the  big  lollop." 

"My  Gawd,"  mumbled  Fatty,  "it  is  the 
General!" 

"Take  a  good  look  at  me  too,  young  man,  so 
you'll  know  me,"  roared  the  General.  "The 
next  time  you'll  get  only  one  look."  And 
Fatty  looked. 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  69 

Did  you  ever  handle  a  Colt  automatic  pistol, 
one  of  the  Army  "forty-fives"?  If  you  have, 
you  respect  it.  The  rookie,  likewise,  is  vm- 
aware  that  it  is  one  of  the  most  dangerous 
weapons  unskilled  hands  can  carry.  In  the 
grip  of  the  greenhorn  it  has  a  way  of  acciden- 
tally going  off.  The  first  week  the  camp 
guard  was  posted  in  one  of  the  Eastern  can- 
tonments, the  rookies  were  given  Colt  auto- 
matics. Rough  characters  existed  among  the 
laborers  who  were  still  working  on  the  can- 
tomnent,  and  it  was  not  thought  wise  to  leave 
out  the  sentrfts  unarmed.  So  they  were  in- 
structed : 

"Load  your  clips  with  two  blank  cartridges 
at  the  top.  Put  five  ball  cartridges  under 
them.  Thus  if  you  get  into  such  trouble  that 
you'll  have  to  use  your  pistol  you  can  fire  twice 
right  at  the  man  with  two  blanks.  If  that 
doesn't  scare  him  off  and  he's  assaulting  you, 
you've  got  the  ball  cartridges  to  fall  back 
upon." 

Now  one  day  when  that  guard  was  on,  a 
friend  of  mine  was  Ofiicer  of  the  Day.  The 
officer  acting  as  such  is  responsible  for  all  the 
sentries,  and  must  inspect  them  on  post  fre- 
quently.   He  made  his  first  inspecting  round 


70  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

at  night.  "Halt!"  he  heard  a  sentry  shout. 
"Who's  there?" 

"Friend!" 

"Advance,  friend.  .   .   .  Halt!"  .   .  .  Bang! 

And  my  friend,  the  Lieutenant,  got  his  first 
sensation  of  being  under  fire.  Something  sped 
by,  sucking  in  the  air  with  a  whistling  sound — 
a  bullet!  Like  a  flash  he  dropped  to  the 
ground.  Bang!  A  second  bullet  whistled 
overhead.    Bang!    No  sound  of  a  bullet. 

"The  damned  fool!"  swore  the  Lieutenant, 
softly.  "He  loaded  two  ball  cartridges  first 
instead  of  two  blanks."  And  sure  enough, 
when  the  sentry  had  calmed  down,  the  Lieu- 
tenant found  this  to  be  so. 

"I  didn't  fire,"  the  sentry  explained;  "the 
pistol  just  started  firing  somehow  and  ran 
away  with  me." 

"All  right,"  said  the  Lieutenant  grimly; 
and  two  hours  later  he  made  a  second  swing 
round  the  posts.  This  time  the  sentries  were 
amazed  to  hear  their  Lieutenant  calling  to 
them  out  of  the  night : 

"Hello!  Here  I  come!  Hello!  This  is  the 
Officer  of  the  Day  coming!  Don't  shoot!" 
.  .  .  Which  was  quite  novel  for  the  night  in- 
spection of  sentries  but  grim  military  neces- 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  71 

sitv,  with  Colt  automatics  in  the  hands  of 
rookies.  That  time  the  National  Army  had 
the  laugh  on  an  officer. 

There  are  not  a  few  laughs  on  officers. 
There  was  a  Major  of  a  Depot  Brigade,  which 
is  a  reservoir  of  troops  to  replace  losses  in  a 
fighting  division.  Not  so  very  long  ago  the 
JMajor  had  been  a  Lieutenant  in  the  Regular 
Army  and  commissioned  higher ;  he  was  rising 
to  every  situation.  There  was  one  situation, 
however,  that  floored  him  cold.  Broken  down 
by  the  day-and-night  work  of  those  early  days 
of  the  National  Army,  he  was  taken  to  the  hos- 
pital. His  Captains  and  Lieutenants  thought 
it  would  be  decent  to  send  him  some  flowers, 
and  they  did.  Later,  when  the  Major  was  re- 
turned from  the  hospital  for  duty,  his  first  act 
was  to  storm  into  the  office  of  the  Battalion 
Adjutant. 

'*Do  you  know  anything  about  any  flowers 
being  sent  down  to  the  hospital  for  me?"  he 
demanded  of  the  Captain. 

*'Why,  yes,  Major." 

"Out  with  it!    Who  did  it?" 

"Why,  we  all  did,  JMajor.  The  officers  got 
together " 

"And  sent  me  a  damned  funeral  wreath!" 


72  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

snapped  the  Major.    "But  I  fooled  you  all." 

Nothing  would  satisfy  the  Major  that  it 
hadn't  been  done  deliberately  until  he  investi- 
gated for  himself  and  learned  that  the  florist 
had  made  the  mistake  of  confusing  the  order 
for  the  hospital  with  one  for  a  maiden  lady  of 
the  neighborhood.  It  was  this  same  Major 
who,  hovering  around  while  a  company  was 
being  paid,  upbraided  an  Irish  boy  for  not  say- 
ing "Here!"  distinctly  when  his  name  was 
called. 

"Now,  Private  Hallorahan,"  directed  the 
Major,  injecting  himself  into  the  situation  to 
the  annoyance  of  the  Private's  Captain,  "say 
*Here  1'  as  if  you  meant  it." 

Hallorahan  mumbled  something. 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  Major.  "Can't  you 
say  *Here!'  plainly  and  loudly?" 

"Faith  and  I  can't,"  the  Irish  boy  replied. 
"I  ain't  got  no  upper  teeth."  Every  officer 
was  careful  to  look  in  another  direction  from 
the  Major. 

There  was  a  joke  pinned  upon  the  Medical 
Officers  of  one  regiment  that  they  have  yet  to 
hear  the  end  of.  For  weeks  these  doctors  had 
been  urging  the  Captains  to  preach  Personal 
Hygiene  and  Sanitation  to  their  men.    Regu- 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  73 

larly  every  fortnight  the  doctors  would  then 
visit  barracks,  assembling  the  men  in  the  mess 
hall — "where  the  light  was  good" — and  exam- 
ine them  for  "cooties"  and  the  need  of  baths. 
That  went  on  for  several  weeks.  Then  one 
night  the  privates  of  Battery  E  were  allowed 
to  give  a  "smoker."  Monologues,  songs,  and 
all  were  on  the  bill.  All  the  officers  of  the 
regiment  were  there;  the  Medical  Officers 
early  made  their  presence  apparent  by  peeping 
under  the  tables  for  crumbs,  even  though  it 
was  "smoker  night."  A  minstrel  show  was  on, 
the  rookies  blackened  up. 

"What,  Mr.  Bones,  is  the  Medical  Depart- 
ment's idea  of  sanitation?" 

"Give  up,  Mr,  Interlocutor." 

"Why,  Mr.  Bones,  the  Medical  Depart- 
ment's idea  of  sanitation  is  'cootie'  inspection 
in  the  mess  hall." 

Wow !  The  Medical  Officers  glared,  but  the 
Colonel  laughed.  The  next  day  at  Officer's 
Call,  though,  no  one  noticed  that  the  Colonel 
was  laughing;  particularly  the  Medical  Offi- 
cers noted  that  fact.  And  they  ceased  to  turn 
the  men's  dining  hall  into  a  clinic. 

There  is  in  one  National  Army  cantonment 
where  the  Negro  soldiers  are  housed,  a  mysteri- 


74>  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

ous  organization.  Every  Tuesday  and  Friday 
its  members,  soldiers  of  one  of  the  colored  reg- 
iments, march  through  the  camp  forty-eight 
strong.  Nobody  knows  where  they  go,  only 
the  regimental  officers  know.  At  first  they 
used  to  slouch  down,  as  if  they  had  been 
caught  at  something  and  were  going  for  pun- 
ishment. Then  the  Regimental  Surgeon  him- 
self, an  old  National  Guard  Infantry  Captain, 
took  hold  of  them.  Now  they  go  marching 
down  through  the  camp  in  column  of  squads, 
heads  up  and  singing  like  larks  ^^Ifs  a  long 
lane  that  has  no  turning f'  They  form  the 
"club,"  The  Mysterious  Forty-Eight,  who  go 
regularly  to  the  Base  Hospital  for  treatment, 
but  who,  to  see  them,  you'd  think  were  kings 
of  the  road.  And  had  white  troops  their  dis- 
ease they'd  shuffle  by,  their  eyes  on  the  ground, 
detesting  themselves  and  the  world;  but  not 
our  "club,"  which  knows  little  more  of  disease 
than  a  child,  and  so  struts  and  sings.  For  there 
are  just  enough  of  the  go-luckj^  boys  with  the 
colored  troops  to  make  a  splendid  leaven. 
Their  childishness,  their  spontaneity,  their 
eagerness  to  break  into  song,  relieve  well  the 
studious,  set  application  of  their  more  ambi- 
tious comrades.    When  we  organized  the  regi- 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  75 

ment,  the  first  of  its  kind  in  American  history, 
an  artillery  regiment  of  Negro  soldiers,  we  told 
them  briefly  about  artillery. 

"You  men,"  we  said,  "are  lords  of  the  road. 
You  know  the  infantry.  They  walk.  They're 
the  doughboys.  You  don't  walk.  You  ride. 
You're  artillery." 

"Capt'n;  please,  Capt'n,"  a  voice  called 
eagerly,  "we  have  horses?" 

"Yes;  a  hundred  and  sixty-six  in  one  bat- 
tery." 

"Yo'  all  hear  that?  We  folks  have  horses. 
Glory  be !    I  love  'em,  Capt'n." 

"Yes,  and  you  don't  carry  rifles,"  went  on 
the  Captain.  "You  have  big  Colt  automatic 
pistols  strapped  to  your  belts," 

"La!  Oh,  Lordy!  Dat  certainly  am  fine, 
Capt'n.  All  these  yere  niggers  can  leave  their 
razors  home  now.  Pistols  ?  Th'  Lawd  am  cer- 
tainlj^  good." 

And  the  eyes  then  of  many  of  them  seemed 
just  all  white. 

Shoes  spick  and  span,  uniforms  neat  and 
clean,  slick  and  natty— that's  the  Negro  soldier. 
He's  there.  H'e'll  TVTite  his  reputation  big  in 
France.  He's  working  like  a  fiend.  He  has  a 
big  pride  in  his  Division — the  Ninety-second, 


76  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

composed  entirely  of  ^egro  soldiers.  Listen  to 
that  big  buck  Corporal  there. 

"Listen  now,  all  yo'  men,"  he  is  saying  to  his 
squad.  "Yo'  all  see  mah  chevrons  y'ere,"  and 
he  taps  the  Corporal's  stripes  on  his  sleeve. 
"Yo'  men  gotta  know  what  them  chevrons 
mean.  Dey  mean  Ah  was  picked  by  the  Pres- 
ident to  be  a  Corp'ral  in  his  army.  Dat  the 
whole  power" — expressively  gesturing — "of 
the  United  States  am  now  behind  me  when  Ah 
says  to  yo'  all.  Left — F-haceT  And  they 
face. 


CHAPTER    IV 

THE   SPIRIT   OF   OUR   MEN 

We  love  peace,  yet  we  have  produced  some 
of  the  most  brilliant  Generals  of  historv.  It 
has  ever  been  a  way  with  us  to  keep  the  arts  of 
war  in  the  background  and  to  bring  peaceful 
pursuits  to  the  fore.  Yet,  in  the  art  of  war  we 
have  excelled.  Our  cavalry  tactics  developed 
by  the  Civil  War  became  the  fundamentals  of 
the  cavalry  training  of  every  great  European 
power.  Our  navy  was  the  first  to  develop  the 
*'smoke  screen"  cast  up  by  destroyers  to  hide 
a  fleet.  Yes,  we  love  peace;  we  love  our  lib- 
erty. We  have  loved  it  so  much  throughout 
our  entire  history  that  we  have  always  been 
willing  to  fight  for  it.  It  is  a  way  with  us  to 
be  peaceful,  to  want  to  remain  friends  with  the 
world.  It  is  also  a  way  with  us,  that  when  the 
world  has  not  let  us  be  friends,  we  have  be- 
come very  dangerous  enemies.  So  it  is  now. 
So  are  we  rushing  preparations  for  this  war. 

77 


78  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

It  is  like  us  that  we  should  do  it  on  an 
unheard-of  scale.  The  preparation  for  war 
that  is  going  on  in  our  country  to-day  is  colos- 
sal. We  must  pause  to  weigh  these  things  if 
we  would  understand  the  National  Armv. 

With  one  sweep  of  the  pen  President  Wil- 
son accomplished  what  England  and  Canada 
muddled  over,  hesitated  about,  and  finally  ac- 
cepted— what  Australia  has  yet  to  accept  after 
two  years  of  wrangling.  We  had  but  to  recog- 
nize the  condition  of  war  that  Germany  forced 
upon  us  when  we  plunged,  in  a  typically 
American  way,  and  did  the  one  thing  the  Brit- 
ish cabinets  had  feared  to  tackle — compulsory 
military  service!  Uncle  Sam  pushed  his  boot 
in  the  face  of  Old  Man  Tradition. 

One  can  remember  last  spring,  fateful  April 
6th— "War!"  Then  a  "business  man"  said  to 
me :  "It  won't  be  a  real  war ;  we  are  only  bluff- 
ing. Fellows  are  not  going  to  give  up  good 
jobs  to  join  the  army."  Not  one,  but  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  said  that — at  first.  Money 
was  put  in  the  scales  against  the  nation,  and 
money  won.  In  their  minds,  compulsory  mili- 
tary service  was  not  even  dreamed  of. 

Said,  too,  a  learned  professor:  "The  effect 
of  our  educational  system  has  been  anything 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  79 

but  to  prepare  the  American  mind  for  com- 
jDulsory  military  service.  The  American  to- 
day will  not  accept  it.  If  you  attempt  it,  you 
will  have  draft  riots  worse  than  the  Civil  War. 
If  you  do  get  an  army  that  way,  it  will  be  a 
chain  gang." 

And  said  a  Naval  Officer,  who  was  just 
about  to  leave  port  in  command  of  an  armed 
merchantman — war  had  not  been  declared;  it 
was  in  February:  "I  don't  mind  going  over," 
he  said.  "The  fact  that  we  probably  will  be 
attacked  by  a  submarine  is  all  in  the  game. 
The  risk  is  part  of  my  profession.  That  isn't 
why  I'm  feeling  blue.  What  I  am  thinking 
about  is  that  we  officers  and  seamen  can  be 
drowned  protecting  the  American  flag,  others 
can  be  drowned,  and  it  will  be  meaningless  to 
most  of  the  people  back  home.  That's  what 
hurts." 

Now,  none  of  the  three  men  I  have  quoted, 
who  expressed  his  opinion  just  at  the  time  our 
war  was  gathering,  completely  knew  his  coun- 
try. Would  you  know  our  country  and  its 
soul  to-day?  Leave  the  theater,  the  picture 
plays,  the  "uplift  work"  behind  you.  Sweep 
past  the  flutterings  of  surface  emotion  and 
come  down  to  a  National  Army  cantonment. 


80  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

Seep  into  the  soul  of  the  National  Army. 
There  you  will  find  America.  You  will  find 
an  America  that  some  of  us  did  not  know  ex- 
isted— those  of  us  in  the  younger  generation. 
You  will  find  that  your  country  is  not  really 
made  up  of  sectional  selfishness,  of  small-town 
gossip,  of  big-city  coldness,  of  cloak-and-suit- 
company  humor,  and  of  unfaithful  wives  and 
abducted  virgins.  You  will  find  instead  that 
the  soul  of  America — and  in  its  army,  you  find 
the  naked  soul — is  vast. 

You  will  think  perhaps,  as  you  reflect  upon 
the  spirit  of  the  National  Army,  that  our 
country  came  into  being  because  of  glorious 
Odysseys.  You  reflect  that  America  was  born 
in  the  minds  of  men  who  wanted  liberty — ^lib- 
erty for  religion;  freedom  from  unjust  taxa- 
tion, from  hopeless  debt,  and  from  persecution. 
You  will  think  that  our  country's  founders 
embarked  on  a  Great  Adventure,  sailed  the 
seas  in  miserable  wooden  boats,  planted  foot 
on  a  savage  continent,  hacked  out  homes, 
formed  a  nation,  and  fought  war  after  war  to 
retain  it.  And,  as  you  observe,  in  the  National 
Army,  a  foreign  face  under  our  campaign  hat, 
your  mind  may  go  back  to  a  vast  Russian 
plain,  to  a  wretched  village  where  in  a  hovel 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  81 

in  the  shadow  of  a  monstrous  gold-domed 
church  a  peasant  —  that  recruit's  father  — 
hoarded  his  httle  savings  for  years  until  that 
day  when  he  had  enough  to  huy  a  ticket  for 
America — to  Liberty!  Or  you  may  think  of 
an  oppressed  tenantry  of  the  Balkans,  of  the 
downtrodden  of  Europe  saving  and  saving, 
traveling  on  foot  leagues  of  miles  to  gain  the 
steamer — America — Liberty!  And  it  may 
come  to  you  that  the  spirit,  the  spark,  which 
made  these  people  of  the  past  do  those  things, 
turn  a  wilderness  into  a  nation  or  make  untold 
sacrifices  so  as  to  become  a  part  of  our  nation, 
it  may  come  to  you  then  that  some  of  their 
soul  has  been  transmitted  to  their  sons.  For 
their  sons  to-day  are  Ameiica,  That  which 
they  and  their  parents  fought  so  hard  to  gain 
is  in  danger.  Slowly  it  has  dawned  upon  us 
that  we  are  in  a  war  for  our  liberty  and  swiftly 
we  are  to  fight  to  preserve  it. 

The  French  people  of  to-day,  they  are  not 
warlike — like  ourselves.  Before  the  war  clouds 
broke  in  1914  they  wanted  peace.  Like  us, 
they  had  war  forced  upon  them.  They  did  not 
meet  it  as  a  nation,  with  laughter  and  joy — 
any  more  than  w^e  have.  Most  of  the  world 
could  not  grasp  the  soul  of  France  at  war. 


82  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

That  was  because  it  did  not  know  France;  it 
knew  Paris.  How  did  it  know  Paris  ?  Friends 
with  money  brought  home  stories.  Unfaithful 
reproductions  of  French  life  were  to  be  seen  in 
any  theater.  It  did  not  Ivnow  France  any  more 
than  it  knows  America.  Germany  looked  at 
the  worst  in  New  York,  at  its  obvious  things, 
its  extravagance,  commercialism,  and  greed, 
and  said:  "Ah,  that  is  America!  It  will  not 
fight.  It  is  base."  And  just  as  France 
amazed  the  world,  so  will  we. 

Indeed,  the  more  one  contemplates  the 
spirit  of  the  National  Army,  the  more  one  is 
convinced  that  it  is  quite  like  the  French. 
America  dancing  off  to  war — "The  ragtime 
soldier  man."  Rubbish!  The  American 
armies,  tangoing  off  to  war  in  a  thoughtless, 
care-free  manner.  Fiddlesticks!  The  Na- 
tional Army  is  serious.  It  is  dignified.  It  has 
taken  the  war  with  a  philosophy  quite  like  the 
French.  It  may  be  expressed  something  like 
this:  "We  do  not  like  war.  We  believe  it  in- 
tolerable. We  hope  peace  comes.  But  what 
good  is  peace  if  it  does  not  retain  us  our  coun- 
try? And  what  good  is  life  if  we  have  not  our 
country?  Everything  we  have,  everything 
we  love,   spring  from  that.     We  will  fight 


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OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  83 

for  it  to  the  end.  America  must  be  pre- 
served." 

As  the  French  soldier-writer,  Paul  Lintier, 
has  so  beautifully  put  it: 

"One  must  have  fought,  have  suffered,  and 
have  feared — even  if  only  for  a  moment — to 
lose  her,  in  order  to  understand  what  one's 
country  really  means.  She  is  the  whole  joy  of 
existence,  the  embodiment  of  all  our  pleasures, 
visible  and  invisible,  and  the  focus  of  all  our 
hopes.  In  defending  her  one  defends  one's 
self,  seeing  that  she  is  the  sole  reason  for  be- 
ing, for  living.  Every  soldier  feels  this  truth, 
either  vaguely  or  distinctly  or  clearly,  accord- 
ing to  his  own  powers  of  perception  and  af- 
fection." 

The  man  who  thinks  that  way  is  the  serious- 
thinking  fighter.  He  is  much  more  dangerous 
than  the  braggart,  than  the  man  who  says  he 
"loves  war."  The  German  Crown  Prince  said 
he  loved  war.  When  his  offensive  was  turning 
Verdun  into  a  slaughter-house  he  was  carried 
to  bed — so  the  story  goes — dead  drunk,  feebly 
shouting:  "On  to  Verdun!  On  to  Paris!" 
And  the  men  who  stopped  him,  stopped  his  de- 
luded fools  of  soldiers,  rather,  were  serious- 
minded  Frenchmen  who  hated  war  and  who 


84,  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

simply  said:  "They  have  not  passed.  They 
shall  not  pass!" 

Now  that,  too,  is  the  mood  of  the  National 
Army.  It  is  a  stoical  determination  to  see  the 
thing  through.  They  have  entered  this  war 
after  reading  of  it  for  three  years.  They  know 
its  horrors.  In  this  they  are  unlike  the  men  of 
any  nation  whom  circumstances  rushed  into 
war,  as  into  an  Unknown  Adventure.  Our 
men  know  this  war;  they  followed  it  in  the 
press  since  its  outbreak.  They  are  going  in, 
dogged  and  grim;  theirs  is  a  cold  courage — 
which  is  the  most  sublime.  Give  me  that  type 
of  soldier  to  the  one  of  loud  mouth! 

Come  into  a  Company  office  in  one  of  our 
National  Army  cantonments  of  an  evening 
after  "Retreat."  A  call  had  gone  out  for  vol- 
unteers for  early  service  in  France.  Perhaps 
you  visualize  the  type  that  responded — boy- 
ish, eager,  seeking  an  adventure.  Not  one! 
Instead,  they  were  serious-minded  men.  As 
one  of  them  said:  "I  feel  I  can  be  of  more  use 
in  France  now  than  here."  (The  call  was  for 
special  technical  work.)  ''I  want  to  go  where 
I  can  he  of  the  most  use/'  That  is  the  very 
essence  of  the  spirit  of  service  for  America. 

To  be  sure,  there  is  the  other  type  in  the 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  85 

National  Army ;  the  type  which  has  a  craving 
for  new  faces,  new  lands,  the  man  who,  had 
circumstances  permitted,  would  by  now  have 
been  from  one  end  of  the  United  States  to  the 
other  and  to  Europe  and  back — the  voyageur, 
the  rolling  stone.  There  was  one  such  who 
applied  to  go  to  France.  He  was  not  taken; 
the  list  w^as  full.  Later,  when  troops  were  sent 
from  this,  a  Northern  camp,  to  one  in  the 
South,  he  applied  again.  Faced  with  it,  he  ad- 
mitted: "I  want  to  travel.  I  want  to  get  over 
as  soon  as  I  can."  His  idea  was  the  "to  see 
the  sights"  idea.  And  his  type  makes  a  good 
soldier,  too. 

Self-conscious  at  first  in  their  uniforms,  the 
men  of  the  National  Army  came  to  be  proud 
of  them.  It  took  about  a  fortnight  for  the 
transition.  Then  came  inquiries  at  the  Regi- 
mental Exchange  (General  Store)  for  needles, 
fliread,  and  stain  eradicators.  One  began  to 
see  men  going  off  on  Saturday,  on  pass,  spruc- 
ing up  before  they  left  barracks.  One  won- 
dered at  their  thoughts  as  they  passed  among 
the  civilians  in  near-by  cities  and  towns.  One 
saw  them  occasionally  moving  through  the 
streets,  heads  erect,  with  swinging  carriage, 
unconsciously  walking  the   120  steps  to  the 


86  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

minute  prescribed  by  drill  regulations,  now 
become  habit.  Some  of  them  were  more  care- 
ful of  their  deportment  in  uniform  than  in  the 
days  of  civilian  clothing.  A  spirit  of  pride  of 
uniform  was  developing  in  the  National  Army, 
was  a  quiet  dignity  to  it  that  got  under  the 

skin. 

What  a  change  there  will  be  a-  year  hence! 
This  National  Army  is  a  thinking  army,  and 
war  will  work  its  magic  upon  them.  At  the 
front  only  big  emotions  exist.  There  the  big 
things  are  life,  death,  courage,  sacrifice,  cow- 
ardice, and  selfishness.  Magically  on  the  firing 
line  life  is  reduced  to  these  fundamentals. 
What  is  real  is  placed  here;  what  is  false 
is  placed  there.  The  real  measure  of  a  man 
comes  out.  He  goes  to  help  a  wounded  com- 
rade under  fire  or  he  skulks  in  a  dugout  and 
lets  him  die.  The  front  sweeps  away  all  arti- 
ficialities. There,  man  sees  realities.  He 
gains  a  close-up  of  values. 

Do  you  remember  that  little  gem  of  a 
French  story,  ^'C'est  la  Guerre,  Madame?'* 
The  story  about  the  French  soldier  who  loved 
Paris  so  much  that  he  hated  to  leave  it;  who 
went  to  the  front  and  learned  there  the  true 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  87 

values  of  life,  visited  Paris  on  leave  and  hated 
it?  This  experience  in  the  National  Army  is 
going  to  make  Americanism  vital ;  our  boys  are 
doing  a  lot  of  thinking;  they  will  be  doing  a 
lot  more  when  they  get  back  from  this  war. 
And  that  is  what  we  need  in  our  country — the 
thinker  who  acts — men  who  can  think  pierc- 
ingly, who  can  act  intelligently  and  fight  with 
spirit. 

The  barracks  of  the  cantonment  are  two- 
storied  affairs.  Most  of  the  men  live  in  the  up- 
per story.  On  Sundays  visitors  flock  to  the 
cantonments — girls.  Three  girls  passed  our 
barracks  one  day.  A  young  "rookie"  spotted 
them  from  the  second-floor  window  and  called 
some  comrades.  They  opened  the  window  and 
began  whistling  and  shouting  after  the  girls,  a 
most  crude  flirtation.  I  was  waiting  to  see 
how  far  they  would  go.  It  was  but  a  few 
weeks  after  the  camp  had  opened.  One  of  the 
new  soldiers — a  little  man,  no.  older  than  they 
— scurried  across  the  barrack  room  floor  to  the 
group  at  the  window.  "Cut  it  out,  fellows," 
he  said.  "You're  not  hanging  around  a  corner 
saloon.  You're  in  the  army  now.  Don't  dis- 
grace it." 

His  words  hit  home  and  the  group   dis- 


88  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

persed.  The  men  looked  sheepish  and 
ashamed. 

The  officers  are  doing  everything  they  can 
to  foster  this  spirit;  to  make  the  men  take  a 
pride  in  themselves  and  in  their  work.  Our 
motto  is,  "We  are  going  to  fit  you  to  return  to 
your  homes,  better  .men  than  when  you  left." 
That  is  a  big  job,  but  it  will  surely  be  accom- 
plished. 

A  letter,  of  which  I  give  an  extract,  came  to 
our  attention.  It  was  written  home  by  a  new 
recruit:  "It  is  really  remarkable  the  way  one 
is  so  hastily  accustomed  to  camp  life.  It 
seems  just  like  a  big  picnic,  and  the  discipline, 
instead  of  being  a  damper  to  the  ardor,  adds 
a  zest  to  the  whole  affair.  Another  thing 
which  adds  to  the  pleasure  of  camp  life  is  that 
kickers  and  hogs  are  not  wanted.  The  men 
were  given  a  talk  by  our  Captain  this  after- 
noon, and  he  laid  special  emphasis  on  conduct. 
I  can  see  how  easily  a  man  of  loose  habits  will 
be  transformed  into  a  really  desirable  charac- 
ter.  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  express  the  feel- 
ing that  is  within  me,  and  I  can  sense  just  that 
feeling  in  every  man  here.  Whatever  it  is,  it 
means  something — and  all  T  can  say  is,  God 
help  the  Kaiser — when  the  completely  devel- 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  89 

oped  National  Army  is  turned  loose — over 
there." 

There  is  a  most  important  word  in  the  mili- 
tary lexicon.  It  is  the  word  morale.  Or  call 
it  esprit  de  corps,  elan,  or  spirit.  They  all  im- 
ply the  same  thing.  It  is  the  spiritual  effi- 
ciency of  an  army.  Now  conceive  of  two 
armies,  each  composed  of  just  as  good  physical 
specimens,  each  just  as  well  trained  soldiers. 
One  has  a  poor  morale,  the  other  has  a  good 
morale.  The  one  with  the  poor  morale  will  be 
routed. 

What  is  morale?  A  French  General  termed 
it,  "The  spiritual  quality  that  would  cause  a 
body  of  troops  to  gladly  follow  their  com- 
mander through  hell  if  he  ordered  it."  Morale 
gets  into  the  realm  of  the  psychological.  Let 
us  examine  some  of  its  components.  Let  us 
make  this  examination  from  an  ice-cold  stand- 
point, leaving  any  consideration  but  military 
efficiency  out  of  it.  Looting  is  bad  for  the 
morale.  It  breaks  down  discipline.  Camp  fol- 
lowers are  bad  for  the  morale;  they  put  sol- 
diers in  the  hospital.  Poor  food  is  bad  for  the 
morale;  it  breeds  discontent.  As  Napoleon 
said,  "An  army  marches  on  its  stomach."  As 
an  old  house-wife  will  tell  you,  the  way  to  a 


90  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

man's  heart  is  through  his  stomach.  Lack  of 
confidence  by  the  men  in  their  commanders  is 
bad  for  the  morale.  They  feel  their  lives  are 
being  trifled  with.  They  will  not  unhesitat- 
ingly follow.  Tyrannical  conduct  by  officers  is 
bad  for  the  morale.  It  gives  them  sooner  or 
later  the  viewpoint  of  the  slave.  No  slave  ever 
fought  as  well  as  a  free  man.  To  think  of 
dying  for  no  great  cause  is  bad  for  the  morale. 
It  leaves  a  man  flat.  To  know  that  by  his 
fighting  a  great  cause  is  being  saved,  that  is 
ideal  for  the  morale. 

The  spirit  of  the  National  Army  is  expand- 
ing. It  is  growing  because  our  faces  are  in  the 
light.  No  officer  lets  an  opportunity  go  by  to 
let  his  men  know  the  kind  of  an  enemy  they 
will  fight.  The  men  have  to  be  told  these 
things.  They  have  to  be  awakened  to  the  fact 
that  barbarians  are  loose  in  the  world.  They 
are  responding  to  words  like  those  uttered  by 
a  wounded  English  officer  who  came  to  one  of 
our  cantonments  as  a  bayonet  instructor, 

"Don't,  men,"  he  said,  "make  the  same  mis- 
take we  did.  You'll  do  it,  if  you  are  not  cau- 
tioned against  it.  You  are  Americans,  and  all 
your  training  in  sports  will  lead  you  to  it.  We 
were  prepared  to  fight  the  enemy  in  a  sports- 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  91 

manlike  way.  We  did  it,  for  a  while,  and  then 
we  couldn't  do  it  any  longer.  He  fights  like  a 
savage,  and  you've  got  to  fight  him  in  the  same 
way.  It's  a  terrible  thing  I'm  telling  you,  but 
you  have  got  to  get  what  he's  got — that's  the 
blood  lust.  When  you  drive  your  bayonets 
into  those  dummies  out  there,  think  of  them  as 
representing  the  enemy.  Think  that  he  began 
the  practice  in  this  war  of  running  bayonets 
through  wounded,  gasping  on  the  ground,  and 
defenceless  prisoners.  Think,  men,  that  he 
made  an  attack  on  a  Belgian  position  after 
gathering  up  the  women  and  children  of  a  Bel- 
gian village  and  marching  them  at  the  head  of 
his  troops — a  dastardly  screen ! 

"Another  thing.  We  made  an  attack  one 
day.  As  our  first  wave  carried  the  enemy 
trench,  they  heard  shouts  from  a  dugout: 
*Kamerad! — Comrade!'  The  Germans  sur- 
rendered. The  first  wave  rushed  on,  leaving  it 
to  the  second  wave  to  take  the  prisoners.  As 
soon  as  the  first  wave  had  passed,  the  Germans 
emerged  from  their  dugout  with  a  hidden  ma- 
cliine  gun  and  broke  it  out  on  the  backs  of  the 
men  who  had  been  white  enough  not  to  give 
them  the  cold  steel.  So  now,  men,  when  we 
hear  'Comrade'  coming  from  the  de^Dths  of  a 


92  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

dugout  in  a  captured  trench  we  call  down: 
*How  many?'  If  the  answer  comes  back, 
*Six/  we  decide  that  one  hand  grenade  ought 
to  be  enough  to  take  care  of  six  and  toss  it  in. 
They  made  us  do  that  with  their  dirty,  bar- 
barous warfare.  They  wdll  make  you  do  the 
same  thing.  They  will  crucify  some  of  j'^our 
men  like  they  crucified  the  Canadians.  So 
abandon  all  ideas  of  fighting  them  in  a  sports- 
manlike way.    You've  got  to  hate  them!'' 

Now  if  you  tell  any  normal  man  the  truth 
about  the  German  way  of  making  war,  he'll 
hate.  Slowly  w^e  reveal  to  the  men  in  the  Na- 
tional Army  the  kind  of  foe  they  will  be  up 
against.  As  their  hate  for  the  enemy  increases, 
it  will  give  the  crescendo  pitch  to  the  inorale — 
which  is  for  America's  good. 

One  could  go  on  and  tell  of  scores  of  things. 
One  could  tell  you  of  the  Captain  of  one  Bat- 
tery who  told  his  men  what  the  Liberty  Loan 
meant  and  who,  in  half  an  hour,  got  $12,000 
W'orth  of  subscriptions  for  it.  Think  what  that 
meant  from  193  men  getting  only  $30.00  a 
month  as  privates.  It  could  be  told  that  the 
same  Captain  subsequently  went  to  New  York 
to  speak  for  the  Liberty  Loan  at  a  hotel  fre- 
quented only  by  the  very  wealthy.    And  that 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  93 

the  very  wealthy  subscribed  nearly  $2,000  less 
than  tdiat  his  soldier  boys  had  done.  That  is 
cited  not  as  a  slur  at  our  wealthy  people  who 
have  already  taken  up  quantities  of  Liberty 
Loans;  rather  is  it  to  set  off  by  contrast  the 
spirit  of  the  National  Army  in  going  down 
deep  into  its  pockets  on  $7.50  a  week,  the  way 
it  did. 

Would  you  know  our  army?  Live  with  it 
awhile.  See  it  turn  out  of  bed  every  morning 
at  half-past  five  and  go  through  a  day  until 
five  in  the  afternoon,  pausing  then  for  a  brief 
two  hours  before  plunging  into  a  school  at 
night.  Drill  in  the  daytime,  military  text 
books  at  night ;  grind,  grind,  grind,  with  never 
a  whimper,  with  set  serious  faces — that  is  the 
National  Army. 

No  conscripts — rather  American  men  taken 
from  all  walks  of  life  who  know  what  this  war 
is  and  who  have  gone  into  it  with  their  hearts 
loyal  and  their  faces  grim.  For  that  is  the 
army  that  is  soon  going  "over  the  top"  at  the 
Hun.  That  is  the  Army  which  is  fired  with 
the  spirit  of  its  fathers  and  its  grandfathers — 
of  all  those  who  have  fought  for  Liberty  and 
came  to  free  America  for  Liberty — that  eter- 
nal craving  of  Man  in  Evolution. 


CHAPTER  y. 


'"'the  job  of  soldiering^"* 


These  words  are  for  you  who  will  as  you 
are  called  to  the  colors,  become  soldiers  of  the 
National  Army.  They  are  for  your  loved  ones 
and  friends.  They  are  also  for  every  one  who 
reads  in  the  newspapers  about  the  National 
Army,  who  cares  about  it,  which  is  hastening 
to  mean  all  those  who  are  not  reposing  in  in- 
ternment camps.  Should  there  be  such,  who 
may  chance  upon  this,  they  will  find  in  it  scant 
comfort.  For  it  will  coldly  tell  of  the  lot  of  a 
soldier  today  in  the  National  Army,  free  from 
the  passion  of  the  "muck-raker"  and  free  from 
the  distorted  viewpoint  of  the  "investigator." 

You  are  reading  daily  of  the  soldiers  in  our 
vast  cantonments  and  of  their  lot.  You  are 
writing  to  them  and  they  are  writing  to  you. 
Occasionally  you  see  photographs  of  them  and 
their  life  in  cantonment.  But  how  much  do 
you  really  know  about  them?    Do  you  know 

94 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  95 

how  they  are  fed?  How  they  sleep?  What 
they  wear  ?  How  they  are  cared  for  when  ill  ? 
How  they  manage  to  get  along  on  theh^  pay? 
How  they  are  amused?  Why  sports  are  en- 
couraged so  much?  Why  food,  clothes,  quar- 
ters, medicine,  amusement,  and  $30  a  month 
isn't  such  a  bad  job?  Unless  you  have  lived 
the  life  of  the  National  Army,  you  cannot 
know  and  understand  these  things.  You  can- 
not grasp  it  by  merely  visiting  camp.  You 
have  to  be  in  it.  The  letters  home,  they  never 
tell  it;  and  the  letters  from  home,  they  are 
always  filled  with  questions.  "Do  you  get 
enough  to  eat?"  .  .  .  "You  must  be  very  cold 
down  there  ...  I  read  in  the  papers  that  the 
boys  at  Camp  Funston  were  going  around  in 
zero  weather  with  nothing  but  thin  coats  on. 
•  .  .  They  didn't  even  have  uniforms." 

In  any  undertaking  as  vast  as  the  IN'ational 
Army,  there  is  always  bound  to  be  had  more 
misinformation  than  truth.  Untruths  are 
spread  broadcast,  innocently  enough,  by  those 
who  repeat  gossip  and  in  a  sinister  way  by 
those  whose  intent  it  is  to  discredit  our  Army. 
I  refer  to  the  group  that  has  stolen  the  word 
Socialism  to  use  as  a  screen  behind  which  they 
mask    their    activities    for    the    Kaiser — that 


96  OUPL  FIllST  HALF  MILLION 

group  today  which  is  always  prattling  about 
"Free  Speech."  And  I  refer  to  the  other  type 
of  Teutonic  agent  who  will  whisper  to  you 
that  he  has  heard  of  this  or  that  misfortune 
to  our  National  Army. 

To  be  sure  all  is  not  perfect  in  cantonment 
life.  That  would,  on  the  face  of  it,  be  absurd 
with  so  swift  and  so  vast  a  preparation  for 
ivar.  Of  ordnance — guns,  rifles,  pistols — we 
are  short,  for  the  moment.  That  is  public 
knowledge,  aired  in  a  Congressional  investi- 
gation. But  our  men  are  not  poorly  clothed 
nor  are  they  cold  or  hungry.  It  is  about  time 
the  truth  were  known. 

Anthony  Wayne  Putnam  was  called  to  the 
colors.  Consider  him  as  a  composite  of  the  en- 
tire draft.  Think  of  him  as  reporting  at  any 
one  of  our  National  Army  camps.  They  are 
alike.  What  happens  to  him  in  one,  happens 
to  him  in  another.  The  Putnams  are  clothed, 
fed,  their  health  is  looked  after,  likewise  their 
amusements  and  their  finances,  by  the  same 
system. 

Upon  his  arrival  at  camp,  Anthony  Wayne 
Putnam's  steps  lead  from  the  railroad  station 
to.  the  regimental  infirmary.  He  is  there  given 
a  swift  but  searching  look-over.     He  is  in- 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  97 

spected  for  contagious  diseases  and  for  vermin. 
Not  that  the  American  youth  believes  the 
theory  of  the  Russian  peasants  that  one  is  not 
healthy  unless  one  provides  shelter  for  at  least 
one  tiny  louse;  but  the  Army  Doctors  are 
taking  no  chances.  If  the  new  recruit  should 
have  picked  up  vermin  on  the  troop  train  en- 
route  to  camp,  it  is  detected  and  he  is  "de- 
loused"  before  being  allowed  to  enter  the  bar- 
racks with  his  comrades.  If  he  has  a  conta- 
gious disease,  he  is  immediately  sent  to  the 
camp  hospital.  For  example,  we  had  a  case 
the  other  day  of  a  man  who  developed  chicken- 
pox  enroute  to  camp. 

At  his  regimental  hospital,  Putnam  is  given 
a  vaccination  against  smallpox  and  an  inocu- 
lation calculated  to  prevent  him  from  con- 
tracting typhoid.  Assume  that  he  has  passed 
this  first  test,  the  object  of  which  obviously 
is  to  protect  him  and  his  comrades.  He  then 
reports  to  his  Company  Commander.  Pres- 
ently back  to  the  hospital  he  goes,  this  time 
for  a  searching  phj^sical  examination.  Back  at 
the  local  board  where  he  enrolled  for  the  draft, 
he  was  stamped  "Approved"  by  a  civilian  doc- 
tor. That  is  not  enough  for  the  Army;  and 
the  Regimental  Surgeon  goes  over  him.     He 


98  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

goes  over  him  with  one  thought  in  mind :  Has 
this  recruit  any  defect  which  we  cannot  cor- 
rect which  will  render  him  liable  to  breakdown 
under  military  service?  Feet,  heart,  lungs, 
teeth  are  tested.  If  the  man's  case  seems  at 
all  doubtful,  he  is  submitted  by  the  Regi- 
mental Surgeon  for  rejection.  Thereupon,  he 
is  sent  to  the  cantonment  hospital  and  a  special 
examining  board  again  goes  over  him  thor- 
oughly. If  they  agree  with  the  finding  of  the 
Hegimental  Doctor,  the  man  is  recommended 
for  rejection.  He  is  rejected  by  the  Division 
Surgeon,  home  he  goes.  So  if  you  know  of 
anybody  in  the  National  Army  to-day,  you 
know  they  are  physically  fitted  for  it.  They 
have  had  the  acid  test. 

Our  recruit,  Anthony  Wayne  Putnam,  saw 
a  man  who  came  down  on  the  train  with  him, 
going  through  the  examination  in  the  Regi- 
mental Infirmary.  Every  Regiment  has  its 
own  Infirmary,  its  own  staff  of  Doctors  and 
Dentists  whose  job  it  is  to  look  after  the  health 
of  the  men  in  that  regiment.  Recruit  Putnam 
noticed  that  some  men  with  fiat  feet  were 
accepted.  He  thought  this  a  little  strange, 
for  he  had  heard  that  the  flat-foot  men  were 
useless  on  a  march.    Later  he  learned  that  such 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  99 

men  had  to  report  twice  a  day  to  the  Infirmary 
for  treatment  to  correct  their  fallen  arches. 
He  learned  too  that  an  X-ray  photogi'aph  was 
taken  of  every  such  pair  of  flat  feet  and  that 
as  the  special  exercises  went  on,  the  photo- 
graph absolutely  proved  that  the  defect  was 
being  corrected. 

But  no  "flat  feet  school"  for  Recruit  Put- 
nam. He  passed  the  examination  with  flying 
colors  and  was  ordered  back  to  his  barracks. 
Looking  over  his  new  home,  he  found  it  was 
a  large  building,  made  of  wood  but  that  the 
inside  of  it  was  lined  with  a  composition  which 
resembled  heavy  cardboard  and  shut  out  the 
cold  and  wind.  He  discovered  that  the  lower 
floor  of  the  barracks  was  devoted  to  the 
kitchen,  a  storeroom  for  food  containing  a  big 
refrigerator,  a  dining  room  large  enough  to 
accommodate  190  odd  men  at  a  sitting,  with- 
out crowding,  a  big  sleeping  room,  a  store- 
room for  clothing,  and  the  Captain's  office. 
Going  upstairs  he  saw  that  the  entire  second 
floor  of  the  building  was  one  huge  sleeping 
room  and  noted  with  satisfaction  that  it  con- 
tained two  big  stoves  in  which  fires  were  al- 
ready burning  and  that  there  were  stoves  in 
the  sleeping  room  downstairs  and  in  the  mess 


100  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

hall,  too.  "Yes,  the  quarters  are  warm,"  he 
thought. 

Then  he  was  given  a  strong  iron  cot,  a  straw 
mattress,  and  two  blankets,  woolen  army 
blankets  the  same  color  as  his  uniform,  and  a 
heavy  comforter.  A  mess  kit  was  next  added 
to  his  new  possessions.  Upon  examining  the 
kit  he  found  it  to  contain  a  tin  plate,  a  frying 
pan,  a  tin  cup,  knife,  fork,  and  spoon.  It  was 
with  a  bit  of  misgiving  that  he  glanced  at  the 
frying  pan,  the  wild  thought  occurring  to  him 
that  he  would  have  to  cook  his  own  food.  At 
meal  times,  however,  he  learned  that  he  used 
the  frying  pan  as  an  extra  plate. 

Mess  over,  his  clothing  was  given  him.  He 
drew  down  a  pair  of  khaki  pants  and  a  pair  of 
woolen  ones ;  a  khaki  coat  and  a  woolen  coat — 
two  suits.  A  pair  of  canvas  leggings,  a  hat,  a 
poncho  (raincoat),  two  suits  of  cotton  under- 
clothing, two  suits  of  heavy  fleece-lined  under- 
clothing, four  pairs  of  socks,  two  flannel  shirts, 
a  blue  denim  suit  to  work  around  in,  a  belt,  a 
hea\y  woolen  overcoat  and  two  pairs  of  shoes. 
The  one  pair  was  a  russet  that  he  could  keep 
polished  and  always  look  smart  in;  the  other 
was  a  field  shoe  of  natural  colored  leather,  hob- 
nailed and  as  strong  as  iron.     Like  most  of 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  Mil^L/ON  lOl 

his  comrades,  Recruit  Putnam  kicked  against 
heavy  field  shoes  and  said  they  were  uncom- 
fortable, until  he  learned  the  trick  of  rubbing 
them  well  with  oil — then  he  swore  by  them. 

That's  the  wardrobe  of  your  soldier  boy  in 
the  National  Army.  It  may  not  agree  with 
some  of  the  stories  you  have  heard,  with  some 
of  the  indignant  letters  you  may  have  seen 
written  in  the  newspapers.  I  recall  reading 
one  such  written  by  a  well  known  woman  fic- 
tion writer.  Her  very  name  inspired  confi- 
dence. She  stated  that  she  had  seen  soldiers 
drilling  on  a  cold  day  and  wearing  only  thin 
civilian  clothing — this  at  one  of  our  middle- 
western  cantonments.  You  can  see  the  same 
thing  at  any  of  our  cantonments  if  you  hap- 
pen to  come  on  the  right  day.  What  I  mean 
is  this.  The  situation  is  that  the  makers  of 
clothing  and  equipment  for  the  National 
Army  are  turning  out  these  things  just  as  fast 
as  is  humanly  possible.  Who  could  foresee 
in  1916  that  we  would  need  clothing  for 
over  a  million  soldiers?  So  we  must  be  care- 
ful and  conserve  every  article  of  clothing  until 
we  have  plenty  of  it — which  will  be  soon.  So, 
we  are  not  issuing  uniforms  to  men  the  day 
they  reach  camp.     We  are  not  giving  army 


:i02  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

clothes  to  them  until  they  have  passed  the 
Army  physical  examination,  until  we  know 
that  they  are  going  to  be  retained  in  the  Army. 
Which  is  commor\  sense.  Also,  it  is  impossible 
to  give  a  soldier  his  clothing  the  very  instant 
he  has  been  physically  accepted. 

Let  me  show  you  what  has  to  be  done.  His; 
size  has  to  be  taken  for  every  article.  Army 
clothes  are  not  sized  like  department  store 
clothes,  by  ages,  or  chest  measurements.  Dif- 
ferent measurements  determine  an  Army  size ; 
for  example,  a  man  with  25  inseam,  35  inches 
around  the  hips,  34  inches  around  the  waist,  he 
takes  a  size  4.  So  you  see  your  recruit  An- 
thony Wayne  Putnam  has  to  have  the  tape 
measure  run  all  over  him  and  all  the  readings 
recorded.  Then  his  sizes  and  the  sizes  of  all 
his  comrades  have  to  be  determined.  These 
have  to  be  composited,  put  on  a  requisition 
sheet  and  sent  down  to  the  Quartermasters. 
There  they  have  to  be  counted  out,  loaded  on 
trucks,  sent  down  to  your  barracks,  and  is- 
sued. This  is  not  a  matter  of  a  couple  of 
hours,  rather  a  couple  of  days.  In  the  mean- 
time, the  recruit  drills  in  his  civilian  clothes. 

No  officer  wants  to  see  a  man  not  in  uni- 
form.   It  not  only  goes  against  the  man's  com- 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  103 

fort  but  it  is  a  depressing  feeling;  moreover, 
if  you  have  a  lot  of  men  ununiformed  around 
camp,  you  don't  know  whether  they  are  sol- 
diers or  laborers.  Officers  do  everything  they 
can  to  get  the  soldier  in  uniform  as  quickly  as 
possible.  That  accomplished,  he  must  send 
home  his  civilian  clothes  at  once.  The  ununi- 
formed men  the  woman  letter  writer  saw  drill- 
ing may  have  been  men  during  that  brief  pe- 
riod of  waiting  for  their  clothing  after  their 
sizes  had  been  taken. 

Is  the  soldier  warm?  You  may  judge  from 
the  clothing  that  has  been  issued.  Also  con- 
sider that  he  receives  woolen  gloves  and  inevi- 
tably a  sleeveless  sweater,  which  he  is  ordered 
to  wear  underneath  his  shirt.  And  should  you 
see  him  drilling  out  in  the  open,  don't  be 
alarmed.    He's  exercising;  you  are  not. 

Some  men  need  more  bed  clothing  than 
others.  The  Red  Cross  is  procuring  a  third 
blanket  for  every  man.  With  a  comforter  that 
should  suffice  for  anybody  but  a  man  with 
anemia.  For  his  case,  he  has  the  advice  of  his 
Company  Commander  to  place  layers  of  news- 
papers between  two  blankets  and  pin  the  edges 
of  the  blankets  together.  Consider  that  to 
look  after  his  men  is  an  officer's  duty.     He 


104!  .OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

must  see  that  the  soldier's  bed  is  comfortable, 
that  he  is  well  clothed,  that  his  food  is  good, 
and  well  prepared,  and  that  he  has  plenty  of 
it.  And  more  than  anything  he  must  satisfy 
himself  that  his  soldiers  are  happy  and  con- 
tented. I  believe  that  the  most  difficult  thing 
for  the  average  officer  to  acquire  is  not  how 
to  become  a  crack  shot  with  a  pistol,  how  to 
give  commands  and  know  whether  or  not  they 
are  being  obeyed  promptly;  not  how  to  ap- 
pear like  a  Lieutenant  of  the  Prussian  Dra- 
goons when  saluting  his  superiors  but  to  know 
how  to  look  after  his  men,  without  babying 
them  or  losing  his  grip  on  discipline.  If  he 
knows  his  military  science  and  has  the  gift  of 
imparting  it  to  his  men  and  if  he  knows  besides 
how  to  look  after  them  he  is  indeed  blessed  of 
the  gods,  for  when  it  comes  to  battle  he  is  go- 
ing to  get  far  better  results.  He  is  going  to  get 
far  more  out  of  his  men  than  the  martinet  who 
lacks  the  knowledge  of  human  nature.  The 
good  officer  has  that  keen  personal  interest  in 
his  men  which  will  make  him  see  to  it  that  they 
are  happy  and  contented  and  which  will  give 
him  a  nightmare  until  he  knows  that  \hey  are. 
From  association,  I  can  say  that  most  of  the 
Commanders    of    the    National    Army    have 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  105 

enough  of  a  perspective  upon  life  to  know  how 
to  look  out  for  their  men. 

What  does  the  soldier  get  to  eat?  Before 
we  sit  down  to  the  table  with  Recruit  Anthony 
W.  Putnam — his  middle  name  has  been 
dropped  by  now,  only  its  initial  is  carried  offi- 
cially by  the  Army — understand  the  sj^^stem  of 
feeding.  The  word  "ration"  means  three 
meals  a  day  for  a  soldier.  Every  month,  the 
amount  of  money  allowed  for  the  ration  by 
the  Quartermaster  Department  varies.  It  is 
40  cents,  running  a  fractional  part  of  a  cent 
above  and  below.  That  means  a  soldier  must 
be  fed  on  forty  cents  a  day.  Before  any  in- 
dignant wife  scornfully  says,  "Impossible," 
may  I  pause  a  moment.  Each  Company  feeds 
itself.  It  has  its  own  kitchen.  It  buys  from 
the  Quartermaster.  It  buys  beef,  a  whole 
quarter  at  a  time,  for  15  cents  a  pound,  any 
kind  of  a  cut,  costing  the  same — while  you  are 
paying  40  cents!  It  buys  bacon  at  45  cents 
a  pound  while  you  are  paying  60  cents — po- 
tatoes at  2J^  cents  while  you  pay  5  cents — 
and  so  on.  This  is  only  possible  because  the 
Government  buys  in  vast  quantities  and  sells 
at  cost  or  sometimes  at  a  loss. 

Now  the  ration  is  worked  out  on  a  monthly 


106  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

basis.  Say  you  have  200  men  in  your  Com- 
pany. You  are  allowed  40  cents  a  day  to  feed 
each  man.  That  makes  a  daily  allowance  of 
$80,  a  monthly  one  of  $2,400.  That  sum  is 
placed  to  your  credit  with  the  Quartermaster. 
You  buy  against  it. 

Your  recruit,  Anthony  W.  Putnam  is  in  a 
new  organization.  The  Captain  wants  to  se- 
cure a  "Mess  Fund."  This  is  money  saved 
upon  the  ration,  any  balance  on  your  $2,400 
at  the  Quartermasters  which  is  turned  over  to 
the  Company  at  the  end  of  the  month.  The 
Captain  wants  that  saving  because  he  is  al- 
lowed by  Army  Regulations  to  spend  it  in  any 
way  he  sees  fit  for  the  betterment  of  his  sol- 
dier's food.  He  knows,  for  example,  that  he 
can't  buy  eggs,  ice  cream,  chicken,  lamb,  pork, 
fresh  fruit  from  the  Quartermaster.  But  if  he 
gets  a  savings  on  the  first  month's  ration  al- 
lowance, he  has  the  money  to  buy  these  things 
"outside."  The  recruits  do  not  know  this. 
They  invariably  write  home  during  their  sec- 
ond month  that  the  food  is  much  better  but 
don't  know  the  why.  Now,  there  is  nothing 
the  matter  with  army  food.  Officers  from  time 
to  time  eat  from  the  barracks  kitchen  to  check 
up  that  the  food  is  good  and  ample. 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  107 

Here  is  a  day's  menu  to  which  Anthony  W. 
Putnams  are  sitting  down.  Breakfast :  Stewed 
prunes,  oatmeal  and  milk,  bacon,  boiled  pota- 
toes, bread,  coffee.  Dinner:  Vegetable  soup, 
roast  beef,  boiled  potatoes,  peas,  bread  pud- 
ding, tea.  Supper:  Hash,  dill  pickles,  fried 
potatoes,  stewed  apricots,  coffee. 

The  men  go  through  a  month  of  food  like 
that,  good,  well  cooked,  but  not  greatly  varied. 
My  men  went  through  it.  At  the  end  of  the 
month,  the  records  showed  that  we  had  saved 
$900  on  the  ration.  The  next  month,  the  men 
got  eggs,  roast  pork,  roast  lamb,  ice  cream,  a 
greater  allowance  of  sugar,  occasional  butter 
and  this  is  what  they  said:  "The  chow  is  much 
better.  The  Captain  has  evidently  been  sit- 
ting upon  the  ISIess  Sergeant  and  making  him 
come  across."  They  did  not  know  that  the 
more  varied  food  they  got  was  only  possible 
because  the  Mess  Sergeant  was  skilful  enough 
to  keep  them  well  if  not  fancily  fed,  to  use  all 
"waste"  and  thus  make  possible  the  $900  sav- 
ing. With  that  he  was  able  to  widen  his  bill 
of  fare  that  month  and  automatically  every 
month  thereafter.  That's  the  way  the  soldier's 
food  is  looked  after.  That's  the  way  Officers 
try  to  give  their  men  a  good  table. 


108  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

Which  brings  us  to  an  institution  called  The 
Regimental  Exchange;  that  is,  the  Regimental 
Store,  which  sells  ice  cream,  fancy  crackers, 
cake,  candy,  tobacco,  newspapers  and  knick- 
knacks  for  the  comfort  and  amusement  of  the 
soldier.  Also  it  keeps  down  the  prices;  also, 
it  is  co-operative.  After  the  Regimental  Ex- 
change has  paid  for  its  stock — which  it  gets  on 
credit — its  profits  are  divided  equally  among 
every  Company.  The  money  goes  into  the 
"Company  Fund."  The  custodian  of  the  Com- 
pany Fund  is  the  Captain.  He  is  authorized 
to  spend  that  money  in  ways  for  the  comfort 
and  happiness  of  the  soldiers  and  to  help  fa- 
cilitate the  necessarj''  clerical  work.  Out  of 
that  Company  Fund,  the  soldiers  buy  them- 
selves pianos,  Victrolas,  "smokes" — if  they 
are  going  to  give  a  blow-out  to  another  Com- 
pany— a  pool  table,  anything  at  all  that  they 
v/ant.  Not  forgetting  that  for  the  most  part 
it  is  made  up  of  money  which  they  themselves 
have  spent  at  the  Regimental  Exchange. 

Commanders  will  do  everything  they  can  to 
increase  this  fund  for  their  men.  One  recalls 
a  Captain  who  wrote  letters  to  motion  picture 
theaters  in  the  town  from  which  his  men  came, 
suggesting  that  the  theater  put  on  and  adver- 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  109 

tise  a  benefit  show  for  their  home  boj^s  down 
in  camp.  A  check  of  $45  from  one  small  town 
theater  was  the  result.  Newspapers  in  the 
home  towns  of  the  men  were  appealed  to,  to 
raise  subscriptions.  These  came  through. 
Women's  clubs  in  the  home  towns  were  writ- 
ten requesting  donations  of  tobacco  or  sweat- 
ers for  the  men.  These  came  through.  The 
Captain  invariably  found  that  if  the  people  in 
the  men's  home  town  were  appealed  to  directly 
and  were  told  just  what  their  donations  were 
for  that  there  was  always  a  generous  response. 
In  ways  like  that  are  the  National  Army  Com- 
manders increasing  the  comfort  of  their  mxcn. 
Take  a  man  away  from  home  hundreds  of 
miles  away,  set  him  down  in  a  camp  where  he 
is  worked  eight  hours  a  day  and  he  must  have 
amusement.  One  cannot  begin  to  record  here 
what  the  Y.  JM.  C.  A.,  the  Y.  W.  H.  A.,  and 
Knights  of  Columbus  are  -doing  for  the  men  in 
all  our  cantonments.  Y.  M.  C.  A.  shacks,  each 
containing  a  little  stage,  a  blazing  open  fire- 
place, Victrola  or  piano,  books,  magazines, 
games,  free  writing  materials  are  scattered 
over  every  camp.  Motion  picture  shows, 
Broadway  vaudeville,  boxing  bouts  are  put  on 
for  the  men.    Only  the  other  day  in  one  camp 


no  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

the  ninety  musicians  of  the  New  York  Phil- 
harmonic, under  the  leadership  of  Stransky, 
gave  a  concert  in  camp  for  the  absurd  admis- 
sion price  of  ten  cents.  That  is  a  sample  of 
the  high-class  talent  furnished  by  the  Y.  M. 
C.  A,  for  the  amusement  of  the  soldiers. 

And  there  are  always  several  moving  pic- 
ture shows  a  week.  The  "movies"  are  put  on 
in  every  cantonment,  the  films  or  performance 
being  sent  on  tour  from  camp  to  camp.  But 
the  Army  does  not  stop  there.  Your  wise 
Company  Commander  puts  on  more  amuse- 
ment for  his  men.  Every  so  often,  he  stages 
a  "Company  Night"  in  the  mess  hall.  Boxing 
bouts  between  men  of  the  Company  are  put 
on.  Sometimes  a  monologist  is  discovered  in 
the  ranks,  quartettes  sing;  now  and  then  the 
Regimental  band  comes  in  and  helps  to  liven 
things  up. 

The  singing — that  is  the  thing!  Every 
camp  has  a  skilled  song  master  who  gathers 
the  men  in  the  great  central  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
auditorium  which  is  in  every  camp,  and  works 
up  the  singing  spirit.  The  song  master  gets 
a  thousand  men  to  join  in;  and  the  men  go 
back  to  their  Regiments  and  start  the  singing 
there.    Do  you  remember  that  old  tune,  ''The 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  111 

Old  Gray  Mare?"      Well,  here's  the  words 
they're  singing  to  it  now: 


cc 


Our  Uncle  Sammy,  lie's  got  the  Infantry; 

He's  got  the  Cavalry; 
He's  got  Artillery, 

And  now,  by  gosh,  we'll  all  go  to  Ger- 
many, 
God  help  Kaiser  Bill!" 


And  so  it  goes,  over  and  over.  They  seem 
never  to  tire  of  it.  Singing  in  barracks,  sing- 
ing on  the  march,  it's  fine  for  the  men. 

In  encouraging  that,  one  looks  ahead.  One 
sees  one  of  those  gray  winter  days  of  France, 
a  monotonous  march  to  the  front  past  endless 
villages  that  have  come  to  look  all  alike,  the 
novelty  of  their  architecture  worn  off.  One 
sees  the  monotonous  passing,  the  other  way, 
of  empty  transport  wagons ;  hours  after  hours 
of  marching,  with  depression  falling  upon  the 
men,  damper  than  any  French  drizzle,  and 
then  for  them  to  be  able  to  sing,  to  sing  to- 
gether, that  is  electrical  in  lifting  spirits. 

Do  you  know  that  in  the  Divisions  of  the 
National  Army,  sports  have  been  encouraged 
— athletic  events,  football,  basketball?     And 


112  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

in  the  Spring,  baseball?  Now,  when  sports 
do  not  interfere  with  the  instructions  of  re- 
cruits, they  are  beneficial.  The  slogan  is, 
"Amuse  the  soldier.'*  Every  Company  in 
every  National  Army  Camp  was  ordered  to 
appoint  an  athletic  officer.  These  officers  work 
under  a  Divisional  Athletic  Officer  in  organ- 
izing competitions.  Running  races,  jumping, 
and  that  sort  of  thing  are  held  first  in  the 
Companies.  Then  Regimental  teams  are 
picked  and  these  meet  in  competition  for  the 
championship  of  the  Division.  So  with  foot- 
ball and  basketball.  Last  Autumn  every  camp 
had  its  championship  football  tourney,  some 
of  the  games  of  which  were  attended  by  thou- 
sands of  soldiers.    So  it  will  be  with  baseball. 

Now  that  has  a  two-fold  purpose.  It  is  a 
medical  theory  that  men  who  participate  in 
sports  are  not  as  apt  to  have  their  minds  upon 
sexual  intercourse  as  men  may  have  who  do 
not  participate.  This  page  is  not  a  clinic  for 
the  discussion  of  the  soundness  of  that  theory. 
It  is  brought  up  merely  to  show  that  the  health 
of  the  men  is  ever  a  determining  factor — as  is 
their  amusement. 

Don't  get  the  idea  in  your  head  that  because 
your  loved  one  is  in  the  Army  he's  going  to 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  113 

get  wet  feet  and  get  cold  and  that  nobody  is 
going  to  look  after  him.  Let  the  facts  tell  the 
story.  Every  morning  if  the  recruit  feels  out 
of  sorts  he  is  ordered  to  go  on  "Sick  Report." 
This  means  that  he  presents  himself  outside  the 
Captain's  office  at  a  quarter  of  seven  and  is 
taken  to  the  Infirmary.  In  civil  life  if  you 
have  the  least  little  pain  or  ache,  is  there  a 
Doctor  on  hand  to  examine  you  at  a  quarter 
of  seven  every  morning?  If  the  recruit's  con- 
dition is  at  all  dangerous,  he  is  sent  down  to 
the  hospital.  If  not,  and  the  Doctor  does 
not  judge  him  well  enough  to  drill,  he  is 
marked  "Quarters,"  in  which  case  he  is  ex- 
cused from  duty  all  day.  If  he  doesn't  feel 
well  the  following  morning,  he  reports  again 
at  the  Infirmary.  It  takes  a  recruit  some  time 
to  get  used  to  Army  Doctors. 

In  civil  life,  a  Doctor  writes  a  prescription. 
Somehow  that  inspires  confidence.  I  know  of 
Doctors  w^ho  write  elaborate  prescriptions  for 
colds,  "Two  dollars,  please;  come  again  to- 
morrow." This  is  not  intended  as  a  slap  at  our 
medical  profession,  but  the  doctor  knows  that 
his  patient  must  be  given  some  kind  of  a  pre- 
scription or  he  won't  feel  he  will  get  better — 
which   is   a   psychological   aspect   of  modern 


114  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

medicine.  Away  with  that  in  the  Army! 
There,  we  have  a  theory  that  the  three  greatest 
medicines  in  their  order  are,  water  (for  drink- 
ing and  bathing) ,  salts  and  iodine.  The  Army 
doctors  strive  to  make  the  men  drink  plenty 
of  water,  to  flush  out  their  systems.  For  most 
complaints,  they  will  start  you  off  with  a  good 
physic — to  eliminate  the  poison  that  is  causing 
the  complaint  in  your  system.  They  paint  any 
open  scratch  or  wound  with  iodine — ^because 
it's  the  greatest  preventative  against  blood 
poison  known.  Until  the  recruit  understands 
the  reason  for  it,  he  is  apt  to  write  home  that 
no  matter  what's  the  matter  with  him,  the 
Army  Doctors  give  him  a  dose  of  salts  and  let 
it  go  at  that.  They  do  not  know,  for  example, 
that  colds  can  be  cured  in  that  way,  by  that 
and  by  cutting  away  on  the  intake  of  food. 

When  you  think  about  the  health  of  the  men 
in  the  National  Army  and  worry  whether  your 
boy  isn't  going  to  be  sick  and  uncared  for 
away  from  home,  ponder  upon  these  military 
truths.  Every  sick  man  takes  one  rifle  away 
from  the  firing  line.  A  sick  army  is  only  a 
hospital,  and  no  hospital  ever  won  a  battle. 
The  soldier  is  taught  that  it  is  as  necessary  for 
him  to  take  care  of  his  health  as  it  is  for  him 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  11^ 

to  take  care  of  his  rifle.  The  Army  wants  the 
men  to  be  in  the  very  best  health  possible,  and 
everything  that  science  can  do  to  keep  the  sol- 
dier in  good  health,  is  done.  You  recall  the 
Spanish- American  War — the  scourge  of  ty- 
phoid ?  Do  you  know  that  for  every  man  who 
died  of  wounds  in  that  war,  five  and  one-half 
died  of  disease?  Do  you  think  that  we  will 
tolerate  a  repetition  of  that?  That  if  we 
could  tolerate  it,  and  were  indifferent, 
survive  against  Germany?  Do  you  know 
that  every  soldier  in  the  National  Army  re- 
ceives an  inoculation  which  renders  him  im- 
mune from  typhoid.  If  he  has  not  the  typhoid 
in  his  system  at  the  time  the  inoculation  is 
taken  he  cannot  get  it.  There  have  been  cases 
where  men  develop  typhoid  after  taking  the 
inoculation,  but  those,  with  some  few  excep- 
tions, were  cases  of  "walking  typhoid."  The 
man  already  had  the  disease  but  did  not  know 
it.  Do  you  know  how  the  soldiers  are  made 
immune  from  typhoid? 

Major  Moss,  in  his  Private's  Manual,  has 
compared  the  human  body  to  an  Army  camp. 
Rioters  (Typhoid  Germs)  enter  and  damage 
(action  of  a  poison  formed  when  typhoid 
germs  enter  the  blood) .    The  Guard  turns  out 


116  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

(antitoxin,  an  antidote  which  the  body  makes 
to  fight  the  poison).  A  fight  follows  (the 
symptoms  of  the  disease).  The  Rioters  (the 
typhoid  germs)  are  overcome,  and  a  period 
(convalescence)  follows,  in  which  the  Camp 
(body)  is  restored  to  normal  condition. 

Get  that  parallel  in  your  mind  if  you  would 
understand  the  trick  that  the  Army  Doctors 
play  to  make  the  soldier  immune  from  tyiihoid. 
Into  a  man's  arm,  they  inject  50,000,000  dead 
typhoid  germs  in  a  little  salt  water  under  the 
skin.  Immediately,  the  Guard  (the  body's  an- 
titoxin) turns  out  only  to  find  the  Rioters 
dead.  Their  bodies  are  carried  off.  (This  is 
the  period  of  dizziness,  headache  and  slight 
fever  which  a  recruit  feels  after  the  first  in- 
jection.) The  Guard  (antitoxin)  remains  on 
duty  patrolling  (floating  in  the  blood).  Ten 
days  later,  the  needle  goes  into  the  recruit's 
arm  again — ten  days  later  for  the  third  and 
last  time,  when  all  the  antitoxin  possible  is 
made.  That  remains  patrolling  in  the  blood 
for  about  three  years,  so  that  if  in  that  time  ty- 
phoid germs  enter  the  system,  they  are  swiftly* 
overcome  and  sickness  does  not  result.  In  just 
such  ways  as  that  is  the  health  of  the  soldier 
conserved. 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  117 

I  have  told  you  how  he  is  housed,  hedded, 
clothed,  fed,  how  his  body  is  looked  after,  and 
how  he  is  amused.  What  about  money?  He 
is  the  highest  paid  soldier  in  the  world.  A 
French  Private  gets  5  cents  a  day.  A  German 
3  cents.  The  English  25  cents.  And  the 
American  $1.00.  If  the  soldier  is  single  and 
has  no  debts  to  pay  off,  he  can  save  money. 
He  is  far  better  off  than  the  farm  hand,  who 
in  civil  life  gets  from  $30  to  $40  a  month  and 
his  board ;  or  the  clerk  on  $25  a  week.  Figure 
it  out.  The  cost  in  civil  life  of  quarters,  food, 
clothing,  doctor.  A  soldier  gets  that  free. 
And  he  gets  $30  a  month.  Don't  believe  that 
every  man  in  the  National  Army  has  to  send 
money  home.  Also  $10  a  month  is  enough  for 
him  to  spend  considering  all  the  free  amuse- 
ment he  gets  in  camp  and  the  absurdly  small 
cost  for  amusements — most  of  which  are  next 
to  free.  That  gives  him  Twenty  Dollars, 
which,  if  he  is  wise,  he  puts  into  Lib- 
erty Bonds  and  War  Risk  Insurance.  He 
does  that  because  that  makes  $20  of  his  pay 
a  monthly  obligation.  He  has  to  save  it.  If 
the  man  has  dependents  and  sends  money 
home,  the  Government  almost  doubles  it  for 
him.    If  he  wants  to  be  insured  for  $10,000  by 


118  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

the  Government,  he  gets  it  by  paying  between 
$6  and  $7  a  month,  according  to  his  age.  If 
he  should  be  what  soldiers  call  "Out  of  Luck" 
and  become  permanently  disabled  by  the  war, 
this  insurance  gives  him  a  living  monthly  in- 
come from  the  Government  for  the  rest  of  his 
life,  ]^^o  soldiers  were  ever  treated  as  gener- 
ously by  a  Government  as  ours.  If  they  have 
dependents,  it's  a  pinch  to  get  through,  but  in 
war  everybody  must  take  a  share  of  the  bur- 
den. If  they  haven't  dependents,  if  they  are 
not  saddled  with  old  debts,  lots  of  them  have, 
better  jobs  than  they  ever  had  or  ever  could 
get. 

The  Government,  the  War  Department,  the 
Officers,  the  Red  Cross,  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.,  and 
kindred  organizations,  public-spirited  citizens, 
generous  women,  are  doing  everything  they 
can  to  make  the  soldier  comfortable  and 
happy.  One  might  go  as  far  as  to  say  they 
are  being  coddled.  Compared  with  the  sol- 
diers of  some  other  nations,  they  are  coddled 
and  they  deserve  every  bit  of  coddling  we  can 
give  them.  Have  you  seen  the  slogan  in  the 
newspapers?  "Adopt  a  soldier?"  Do  it.  If 
you  can't  afford  to  lavish  money  upon  him, 
send  him  a  little  gift  once  in  a  while,  prefer- 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  119 

ably  chocolate.  He  may  not  smoke,  but  he 
eats  chocolate.  That  may  seem  trivial.  Noth- 
ing these  days  is  trivial.  Nothing  that  can  be 
done  that  will  make  the  soldier  feel  that  our 
people  are  thinking  of  him,  that  our  people 
want  to  do  everything  they  can  to  bring  him 
comfort  and  joy  and  to  drive  away  boredom — 
the  nightmare  that  hangs  above  any  over- 
worked Army  camp. 

And  when  you  hear  doleful  stories  of  freez- 
ing, half-starved  men  in  our  National  Army 
Camps ;  when  the  mud  is  stirred  up,  know  that 
we  are  not  taking  men  unless  we  can  house, 
clothe  and  feed  them,  that  we  would  take  more, 
could  we  clothe  them;  know  that  the  supply 
of  clothes  and  all  is  accelerating  every  month 
and  Spring  is  finding  us  well  caught  up.  What 
the  War  Department  has  accomplished  in  a 
country  so  poorly  prepared  for  war,  as  we 
were,  is  amazing.  Mistakes  there  have  been. 
They  were  inevitable,  with  a  nation  making 
ready  for  war  so  swiftly  and  on  such  a  colossal 
scale. 

But  when  you  think  of  our  Army,  think  of 
a  snowball.  At  the  mountain  top  it  starts  to 
roll.  At  the  start  it  is  small.  As  it  rolls  on 
down  it  ever  grows  larger.    But  it  is  all  snow 


120  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION, 

(all  men) .  Further  on  it  takes  up  into  its  sub- 
stance, frozen  twigs  (arms)  ;  further  on  loose 
pebbles  (ammunition).  Greater  and  greater 
it  becomes,  picking  up  here  and  there  as  it 
goes,  until  at  the  end  it  is  vast  and  irresistible 
— our  National  Army. 


CHAPTER    VI 


"hakpooning  the  hun" 


A  BIT  of  hill-land  in  flat  South  Jersev;  the 
thinning  smoke  of  a  railroad  train  drifting 
above  leafless  winter  trees;  some  scattered 
farmhouses,  the  country  road  leading  off  to- 
ward a  distant  village — that  and  no  more,  not/ 
a  sign  of  life.  Yet,  a  battalion  of  our  infantry 
is  on  one  of  the  hills.  Were  you  in  an  aero- 
plane soaring  above  them  you  might  detect  the 
shimmer  of  steel,  but  onl}^  from  on  high  could 
that  be  done.  For  the  "doughboys"  have  dug 
themselves  in.  That  hill  is  part  of  our  trench 
system. 

Behind  them,  down  the  far  side  of  the  slope, 
in  the  meadow  beyond,  three  batteries  of  ar- 
tillery are  waiting.  Were  you  standing  in  the 
next  field  you  could  not  see  that  battery,  it 
too,  is  "dug  in"  and  camouflaged.  Branches 
of  trees,  canvas  daubed  like  dirt,  make  it  in- 
conspicuous in  the  landscape.    See  that  clump 

121 


122  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

of  bushes  far  over  to  the  right,  well  to  the 
front,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  end 
of  the  trench.  Just  a  few  bushes,  nothing  more 
to  the  eye,  but  deadly.  In  there  crouch  men 
with  powerful  field  glasses;  men  with  instru-< 
ments  to  determine  the  range  and  angles ;  there 
a  "buzzer"  drones.  For  from  those  bushes  a 
field  telegraph  wire  hums  back  to  the  batteries 
with  "firing  data."  For  there  are  the  eyes  and 
the  brain  of  those  twelve  camouflaged  guns 
hidden  back  in  the  field  waiting  a  word  to 
throw  shell  on  the  enemy's  trenches.  But 
where  is  the  enemy? 

Look  from  the  hilltop  where  the  trench  is, 
across  the  little  valley,  follow  up  the  slope  on 
the  other  side.  See  those  evergreens?  Got  it? 
There  the  enemy's  trench  begins.  Take  that 
on  faith.  If  you  haven't  powerful  glasses  you 
can  detect  nothing  unusual  on  that  distant  hill- 
side, and  all  that  you  see — don't  see,  rather — 
is  a  bit  of  a  modern  battlefield.  For  it 
was  all  planned  by  one  of  the  French  officers, 
who  had  been  sent  from  the  front  to  help  the 
National  Army. 

The  expression  has  been  used,  "the  empti- 
ness of  the  battlefield."  Empty  it  is — until 
something  starts.    Something  is  starting  now. 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  123 

Look!  Bayonets  bristle  over  the  tops  of  the 
Jersey  trenches.  Men  seem  to  leap  out  of  the 
earth.  There  they  go — the  infantry!  .  .  .  But 
they're  walking!  That  isn't  a  charge!  .  .  . 
Gone  are  the  days  when  soldiers  frantically 
rush  pell-mell  with  fixed  .bayonets ;  instead,, 
they  walk  quite  leisurely  and  in  front  of  them 
walks  a  curtain  of  bursting  shrapnel  and  shell 
from  their  own  guns,  advancing  as  they  ad- 
vance, not  a  second  faster.  It  carries  them 
right  up  to  the  enemy's  trenches.  They  bay- 
onet the  Huns  and  occupy  the  trench. 

Now  the  rookies  in  all  National  Army  can- 
tonments are  taught  to  do  just  that  sort  of 
thing.  It  is  not  all  as  simple  as  it  seems.  They 
are  fighting  the  Hun  in  efRgy  before  facing 
him  in  the  flesh.    Would  you  see  it  done? 

Off  at  the  edge  of  the  woods,  just  beside  the 
barracks  of  the  3 — th  Infantry  at  Camp  Dix, 
is  a  "bayonet  course."  You  see  a  first-line 
trench,  then  imitation  barbed  wire,  then  scaf- 
folds from  which  hang  straw  figures;  beyond 
them,  more  barbed  wire,  more  scaffolds,  bags 
of  straw  lying  on  the  ground,  great  holes  dug 
in  the  ground,  still  more  barbed  wire,  then  a 
trench  filled  with  straw  figiu'es.  That  is  a 
"bayonet  course."    The  straw  figures  are  sup- 


124  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

posed  to  be  German  soldiers;  the  holes,  shell 
craters. 

Of  a  fine  morning  in  January,  one  could 
see  on  this  bayonet  course  the  members  of 
Company  I,  of  the  3 — th  Infantry.  Their 
Captain  was  talking  to  them. 

"Now,  you  men  have  been  practising  the 
bayonet  drill.  This  morning  you  will  go  over 
the  top  for  the  first  time.  Remember,  pick 
your  way  through  the  wire  where  passages 
have  been  made.  In  France,  those  passages 
will  be  made  by  your  artillery  blowing  up  the 
wire  with  shells  and  by  your  patrols  cutting  it 
at  night.  When  you  get  up  against  one  of 
those  straw  dummies  out  there,  stick  your  bay- 
onet into  it,  as  if  you  meant  it.  If  you  see 
any  dummies  lying  on  the  ground,  give  it  to 
them,  too.  They're  to  represent  the  shoulders 
of  men  in  the  trenches.  The  dummies  hang- 
ing from  the  scaffolds  are  men  out  of  the 
trenches.  Now  advance  no  faster  than  the 
Lieutenant,  who  will  go  with  you.  Your  speed 
is  the  same  that  you  will  make  in  actual  at- 
tack. You  will  not  walk  faster  than  a  hun- 
dred yards  a  minute  on  this  kind  of  ground. 
All  right,  down  into  the  first  line  trenches 
there,  and  try  it." 


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OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  125 

In  single  file  the  men  disappear  in  the  earth. 
The  Captain  catches  a  glimmer  of  steel  above 
the  top  of  their  trench.  Instantly  he  runs 
over. 

"First  thing  wrong.  Some  men  lifted  their 
rifles  too  high.  I  could  see  their  bayonets. 
Now  that  only  tips  off  the  enemy  that  you're 
going  to  attack.  The  Hun  does  not  like  bay- 
onet fighting.  Remember,  he  will  be  watch- 
ing your  trench  every  minute.  If  he  spots  the 
flash  of  a  bayonet,  he'll  telephone  his  artillery 
and  his  machine  guns  and  they'll  be  sweeping 
No  Man's  Land  with  fire  before  you  can  get 
out  of  your  trenches  and  go  after  them.  All 
right,  try  it  again.  No  bayonets  showing  this 
time." 

From  the  trench  the  Lieutenant's  whistle 
sounds.  Up  over  the  top  the  rookies  scramble. 
Their  instinct  is  to  run.  The  Lieutenant  has 
to  keep  shouting  at  them  to  hold  them  to  a 
walk.  "Slowly  men,"  cautions  the  Captain. 
They're  picking  their  way  through  the  barbed 
wire,  now.  There  they  go  into  the  dummies! 
Steel  flashes.  Cloth  rips,  sixty  of  them  jab- 
bing away  at  imitation  Huns.  One  long 
thrust,  a  short  jab,  a  leap  over  tlie  "shell  holes," 
and  they're  at  the  next  set  of  dummies.    Day 


126  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

after  day,  they  do  it.  The  first  day  is  gener- 
ally quite  tame  and  methodical.  In  a  week 
things  begin  to  liven  up  as  they  drive  the  steel 
home,  you  hear  shouts  from  the  men.  An- 
other week  and  they've  painted  faces  of  the 
Kaiser  on  their  dummies,  joyously  spearing 
them.  Another  week  and  they're  cursing 
madly  as  they  give  them  the  steel.  That  week 
they  are  bayonet  fighters. 

In  the  National  Army  the  men  are  being 
taught  that  there  can  be  no  half-way  business 
about  the  bayonet.  It  is  an  ugly  weapon;  its 
very  appearance  is  disconcerting,  a  long  knife 
on  the  end  of  a  rifle.  To  us,  the  British  Army 
has  sent  some  of  its  best  bayonet  fighters  to 
teach  us  that  it  is  "no  quarter  given  or  asked." 
Come  down  and  watch  that  same  Company 
getting  a  talk  from  a  British  Sergeant. 
Ai'ound  him  in  a  crescent  are  rookies  of  the 
National  Army.  He  is  about  to  begin  and 
they  appear  curious.  That  is  their  predomi- 
nant sign  of  emotion.  He  says: 

"Boys,  I'll  tell  you  first  a  story.  It  hap- 
pened at  Gallipoli.  One  of  our  Tommies,  a 
cockney,  from  London,  was  about  to  go  over 
the  top  in  a  bayonet  charge.  A  New  Zealand 
Company  was  alongside  his.     The  Tommies 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  127 

knew  that  the  Turks  didn't  like  bayonet  fight- 
ing. Indeed,  this  time  when  we  showed  them 
the  steel,  they  climbed  out  of  their  trenches  and 
ran  like  rabbits.  One  Tommy  had  his  eye  on 
one  particular  Turk.  He  had  spotted  the  beg- 
gar the  day  before.  The  Turk  was  always 
trying  to  take  pot  shots  at  Tommy. 

"Well,  you  can  imagine  it.  The  Turks  run- 
ning down  Gallipoli,  the  British  after  them, 
with  fixed  bayonets  and  yelling  like  hell.  In 
a  pursuit  like  that  everything  gets  mixed. 
Tommy  found  himself  alongside  a  New  Zea- 
lander.  They  were  both  chasing  the  same  Turk. 
The  blighter  showed  his  heels  to  Tommy.  He 
was  getting  away,  leaving  Tommy  behind  at 
every  stride.    But  Tommy  doggedly  kept  on. 

"I  say,  JNIate,"  panted  the  New  Zealander, 
"take  a  shot  at  him." 

Tommy  shook  his  head.  The  Turks  seemed 
to  run  faster. 

"He'll  be  getting  away  on  yer,"  warned  the 
New  Zealander. 

Tommy  grunted  something,  and  lovingly 
eyed  his  bayonet.  Farther  and  farther  the 
Turk  drew  away.  It  was  more  than  the  New 
Zealander  could  stand.  Down  on  one  knee  he 
dropped,  brought  up  his  rifle  and  let  go.     It 


128  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

was  a  hit;  the  Turk  fell.     In  a  rage  Tommy 
turned  on  the  New  Zealander. 

"Blimme,  you're  the  hell  of  a  blokie.  That 
was  my  Turk.    What  did  you  shoot  him  for?" 

"He  was  getting  away." 

"Stop  chucking  about  him.  He  was  my 
Turk.    I  wanted  to  harpon  the " 

The  British  Sergeant,  when  finished  telling 
this  story,  paused  a  moment,  and  eyed  the 
rookies  of  the  National  Army. 

"The  Tommy  was  right,"  he  said.  ''You 
want  to  learn  how  to  harpoon  the  Hun  and 
you  want  to  get  to  like  it.  That's  going  to  be 
hard  at  first.  It's  a  dirty  weapon,  the  bay- 
onet. But,  remember  this,  if  you  don't  stick 
it  into  him,  he's  going  to  stick  it  into  you. 
Every  time  you  throw  it  into  him,  grunt  as  if 
you'd  just  eaten  a  mutton  chop  and  liked  it. 
Every  time  you  let  him  have  your  steel  be- 
tween his  ribs,  think  of  the  American  soldiers 
who  were  found  in  front  of  the  trenches  only 
the  other  week  with  their  throats  cut.  Every 
time  you  soak  it  to  him,  remember  what  he 
did  to  the  women  of  Northern  France,  and 
that  he'd  do  it  to  the  women  of  your  country, 
if  you  let  him  win  and  come  over  here.  Har- 
poon the  Hun!    Harpoon  liimr 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  129 

The  faces  of  the  rookies  before,  were  cu- 
rious. Now  they  showed  something  of  the 
thing  that  the  Sergeant  was  after.  They  did 
not  look  like  the  same  men.  The  rookie  there, 
the  one  who  had  sold  talking  machines  on  the 
instalment  plan,  one  now  saw  a  drawn  expres- 
sion to  his  mouth,  that  was  entirely  new.  Jack 
Hopkins,  who  used  to  serve  soda  water,  his 
eyes  had  narrowed  and  were  gleaming  a  little 
strangely.  Some  of  the  others  looked  restless, 
uneasy.  They  had  the  first  indications  of  the 
**trench  face." 

Watch  them  now  as  they  go  at  it!  See  their 
bayonets  slashing  and  cutting!  There  they  go 
ripping  into  the  bellies  of  the  bags  of  straw ! 

"Watch  out!"  shouts  the  Sergeant.  "Some- 
times when  you  run  your  bayonet  home  it's 
hard  to  get  it  loose.  Give  the  Dutchman  a 
kick  in  the  belly  then,  and  he'll  go  tumbling  off. 
Try  it  now,  with  one  of  the  dummies." 

A  wicked  thrust,  a  grunt,  a  kick.  "Good!" 
howls  the  Sergeant.  "Soak  it  to  the  blooming 
beggar !" 

They  keep  at  it  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then 
he  blows  his  whistle  for  a  halt.  Their  faces  arc 
perspiring.  They  are  panting.  They  all  look 
a  little  wild. 


130  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

"That  bunch  will  do,"  comments  their  Cap- 
tain.   "They'll  love  it  soon." 

Now  in  all  our  National  Army  Camps,  little 
sections  of  the  West  Front  are  reproduced — 
as  I  described  at  the  start  of  this  chapter.  The 
trenches  are  dug  by  the  men  in  all  kinds  of 
weather — for  wars  have  a  way  of  being  fought 
in  bad  as  well  as  in  good  weather.  Emplace- 
ments for  the  guns  are  dug.  Motor  transports 
are  kept  on  the  move.  Stretcher  bearers  are 
taught  how  to  pick  up  and  carry  away  men. 
Patrols  and  observation  parties  go  out,  make 
maps,  scan  distant  positions  through  long 
glasses.  Everything  that  is  necessary  in  a 
modern  battle  is  rehearsed. 

Now  to  understand  the  things  the  Ameri- 
can Army  will  be  doing  in  France,  to  follow 
the  newspapers  intelligently — and  everyone  is 
following  them  minutely  with  the  American 
Army  now  in  action — it  is  necessary  to  un- 
derstand how  a  modern  battle  is  fought.  One 
must  begin  with  the  perfection  of  mechanical 
things,  the  machine  gun,  artillerj^,  aeroplanes.- 
The  introduction  of  these  weapons  to  war, 
changed  war.  The  battles  you  see  in  the  mo- 
tion pictures,  they  are  false.  The  battles  you 
read  about,  they  no  longer  happen.     When 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  131 

troops  are  subjected  to  the  firing  of  machine 
guns  and  artillery  in  the  open,  their  losses  are 
enormous.  That  is  due  to  the  advance  of 
science.  So  troops  are  not  exposed  in  the  open 
very  often.  They  are  "dug  in."  They  live 
underground  in  trenches,  relatively  safe  from 
machine  guns  and  artillery,  until  an  attack  is 
made.  Then  every  possible  device  is  used  to 
prevent  heavy  loss  while  the  enemy  is  doing 
everything  he  can  to  inflict  it.  That  is  war 
on  the  West  Front  to-day. 

Now  a  modern  battle  begins  months  before 
it  is  fought.  There  is  a  consultation  at  which 
the  Commanding  General  of  the  Army,  his 
Chief  of  Staff,  the  General  in  command  of  all 
the  Infantry,  the  General  in  command  of  all 
the  Artillery,  General  of  aeroplanes,  engineers, 
signal  communications,  transportation,  medical 
corps,  all  are  present.  Something  like  this  hap- 
pens.   The  Commanding  General  says: 

"It  has  been  decided  to  attack  the  enemy's 
line  from  X  to  Y,  penetrating  it  to  the  city  of 
Z.  Preparations  for  the  attack  will  begin  at 
once.  I  have  approved  the  plan  submitted  by 
the  Chief  of  Staff  and  Generals  in  Command 
of  the  different  arms  will  consult  with  us." 

The  Infantry  General  tells  the   Chief  of 


132  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION" 

Staff  the  exact  condition  of  the  Infantry — 
how  many  are  in  reserve,  what  their  morale  is, 
the  condition  of  their  equipment.  The  artil- 
lery commander  gives  similar  facts  concerning 
the  guns.  He  says  that  to  destroy  the  enemy's 
trenches  and  artillery  before  the  infantry  at- 
tack, he  will  need  so  many  thousands  of  guns 
and  tons  of  ammunition.  The  General  in 
charge  of  transportation  says  that  he  can  get 
all  needed  supplies  up  to  the  front  by  a  cer- 
tain date.  The  Medical  General  asks  the  Chief 
of  Staff  for  an  estimate  of  the  probable  losses, 
and  makes  his  arrangements  for  handling  the 
wounded.  So  it  goes.  Each  of  the  highest 
officers  attends  to  his  own  department. 

Activity  begins  at  once.  Increased  ship- 
ments of  ammunition,  rifles,  guns,  all  kinds  of 
supplies,  are  made  from  the  bases,  hundreds 
of  miles  behind  the  firing  line.  Special  rail- 
roads are  constructed  to  bring  this  material  up 
to  the  front  at  the  desired  points.  There  the 
wide-gauge  lines  give  way  to  tracks  only  a 
foot  apart.  Motor  trucks  and  pack  animals 
are  used.  Also,  the  roads  down  which  these 
supplies  must  come  to  the  front  must  be  hid- 
den from  the  enemy,  so  the  Engineers  camou- 
flage them.  They  eiect  screens  along  the  roads 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  133 

for  miles  and  miles,  hiding  them  and  conceal- 
ing all  movements  upon  them. 

The  artillery  is  active.  Battery  after  bat- 
tery is  brought  up  from  the  rear  and  put  into 
position.  Denser  and  denser  grows  the  line  of 
guns,  until  there  are  as  many  as  twenty-four 
hundred,  all  sizes,  on  this  limited  strip  of  front 
where  the  attack  is  to  be  made.  The  aero- 
planes get  busy  with  two  kinds  of  flyers.  The 
birdmen,  whose  job  it  is  to  observe  and  photo- 
graph the  enemy  lines  and  behind  them,  leave 
their  nests.  The  fighting  flyers  whose  job  is 
to  destroy  every  enemy  aeroplane  that  seeks 
to  fly  above  the  American  lines  are  ready.  The 
enemy's  General  Staff  must  be  blinded.  They 
must  not  know  the  preparations  that  are  go- 
ing on  behind  the  American  front.  As  quick- 
ly as  the  Huns  send  up  their  aeroplanes  to  ob- 
serve they  must  be  destroyed.  No  matter  how 
many  of  your  own  machines  you  destroy  in 
doing  it. 

The  infantry  gets  busy.  At  night,  little 
groups  of  four  and  five  men  creep  out  over 
the  tops  of  the  trenches.  Anything  conspic- 
uous about  them  is  concealed,  even  their  faces 
are  blackened.  They  slide  over  the  ground 
toward  the  German  trenches.     Their  mission 


134  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

is  to  report  on  the  condition  of  the  enemy's 
barbed  wire,  to  locate,  if  they  can,  hidden  ma- 
chine guns,  to  pick  out  what  prisoners  they  can, 
so  as  to  know  exactly  what  troops  will  oppose 
them  in  the  battle  to  come. 

Our  artillery  continues  its  activity,  not  firing 
yet,  but  watching  the  enemy,  learning  just 
what  kind  of  guns  he  has  in  action,  spotting 
their  location  and  thus  estimating  how  many 
guns  we  will  have  to  put  into  action  to  over- 
power him.  We  can  tell,  once  we  see  the  dis- 
tant flash  of  his  gun,  what  it  is.  The  German 
77  M.M.  (like  our  three-inch)  for  example, 
gives  out  short  flames,  and  of  a  pale  green, 
lurid  color.  Their  130  M.M.  howitzer  flashes 
red,  mixed  with  yellow  smoke.  Or,  if  we  don't 
see  the  flashes,  we  can  tell  the  caliber  from  the 
size  holes  that  their  shells  make  in  the  ground. 
We  know  that  their  150  M.M.  shell  will  make 
a  crater  over  nine  feet  in  diameter,  and  about 
three  feet  deep.  We  know  that  their  130  JNI.M. 
shell  passing  through  the  air  gives  a  more  stri- 
dent whistle  than  their  150  M.M.  We  know 
also,  from  picking  up  fragments  of  those  shells, 
just  what  size  guns  they  are  firing.  We  can 
tell  from  these  markings,  F.  K.  (Feld  Kan- 
one),  field  gun;  L.  F.  H.   (licht  feld  Hau- 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  135 

bitze),  light  field  howitzer.  We  can  tell  very 
often  the  location  of  that  gun,  even  if  it  is 
miles  away,  by  the  angle  at  which  the  shell  hits 
the  ground,  and  the  sound  of  its  approach 
timed  with  the  discharge  of  the  gun.  I  am 
mentioning  but  a  few  of  the  methods  we  have 
for  getting  a  line  on  their  artillery.  What  our 
Allies  have  learned  in  this  war  is  ours. 

So  does  infantry,  artillery,  each  arm  of  the 
service,  make  its  plans,  gain  information. 
Along  toward  the  day  when  the  battle  is  to 
start,  w^hen  all  the  ammunition  has  been 
brought  up,  when  all  the  guns  are  in  position, 
when  the  bombardment  is  about  to  begin,  we 
make  a  "trench  raid."  Now  that  is  a  very  nice 
manoeuvre. 

Just  imagine  yourself  looking  at  a  map. 
The  letters.  A,  B,  C,  D,  all  represent  enemy 
positions.  We  are  going  to  make  a  raid  into 
C.  The  purpose  of  this  raid  is  information. 
We  want  to  bring  back  live  Huns  whom  we 
wdll  make  talk.  Also,  we  want  to  know  cer- 
tain things  concerning  them.  So  we  plan  to 
put  the  points.  A,  B  and  D,  under  such  a  vio- 
lent artillery  fire,  that  the  Huns  will  not  be 
able  to  send  soldiers  to  the  assistance  of  point 
C.    We  shut  off  C  from  the  rest  of  the  enemy 


136  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

line,  by  dropping  around  it  an  impassable 
screen  of  bursting  shell.  Then  our  infantry 
rushes  into  C,  gobbles  up  their  prisoners, 
makes  observations  and  hurries  back  to  our 
own  lines.  When  you  read  in  the  newspaper 
of  the  "trench  raid"  that  is  the  reason  for  it — ■ 
infoi'mation. 

To  appreciate  the  infinite  care  and  impor- 
tance attached  to  these  "trench  raids/'  consider 
that  in  an  attempted  "trench  raid"  by  the  Ger- 
mans, on  April  14,  1916,  they  used  5,250 
rounds  of  artillery  ammunition  on  a  section  of 
the  front  that  was  not  five  hundred  yards. 
They  were  after  information.  They  got  it.  It 
was  not  particularly  comforting  information. 
I  quote  from  the  report  of  the  German  Cap- 
tain Wagener,  of  the  110  Reserve  Infantry 
Regiment,  which  made  this  raid.  .  .  .  He  was 
ordered  to  sound  out  the  morale  of  the  British 
troops  opposite  him.  The  German  Captain 
who  made  the  raid  was  subsequently  captured. 
His  report  was  found  on  him  and  a  part  of  it 
translated  as  follows: 

"The  regiment  of  Royal  Irish  Rifles  created 
a  most  favorable  impression,  both  as  regards 
the  physique  of  the  men,  and  their  mode  of  re- 
pelling an  assault.     But  for  the  effect  of  gas 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  137 

shell,  it  would  not  have  been  possible  to  clear 
the  section  of  trench,  held  by  one  entire  com- 
pany." 

In  other  words,  the  Huns  learned  that  the 
men  opposite  them  were  not  weak  sisters  and 
were  not  to  be  judged  lightly.  If,  upon  re- 
ceiving a  more  favorable  report  from  the  com- 
mander of  the  trench  raid;  if  the  raid  had 
shown  that  the  troops  opposite  were  in  poor 
shape,  then  Hindenburg  might  have  ordered  a 
sudden  and  powerful  offense  at  that  point  of 
the  line  in  the  hope  of  breaking  it.  So  the 
trench  raid  brings  in  the  last  bit  of  informa- 
tion. It  brings  in  the  human  equation,  the 
morale  of  the  enemy.  This  established,  the 
bombardment  of  the  artillery  begins,  and  the 
infantry  goes  over  the  top  at  the  Hun.  How 
this  is  done  is  shown  in  the  chapter  on  "The 
Glory  of  the  Guns." 

Yes,  a  modern  battle  is  prepared  and  re- 
hearsed for  months.  Before  the  English  took 
Messines  Ridge,  they  built  an  exact  duplicate 
of  it,  miles  behind  their  firing  lines  and  cap- 
tured it  in  practice  a  score  of  times  with  their 
artillery  shooting  dummy  trenches  and  their 
infantry  going  after  dummy  soldiers.  The 
British  worked  on  that  battle  until  they  had 


13S  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

every  detail  of  it  fought  out  in  advance.  Then 
they  went  into  it  and  won  an  enormous  victory. 

How  Napoleon  would  have  revelled  in  the 
facilities  that  a  Commanding  General  has  to- 
day! Aeroplanes,  runners,  carrier  pigeons, 
wdreless,  telephone,  telegi'aph,  signal  lights, 
mirrors,  motorcycles,  all  those  things  are  bring- 
ing to  him  by  the  minute  the  important  bit  of 
information  about  every  event  that  is  happen- 
ing during  the  battle.  He  stands  in  front  of  a 
map,  upon  which  the  position  of  his  troops  and 
the  enemy's  troops  are  changed  by  the  minute 
as  the  reports  come  in.  And  there,  in  a  house, 
tv/enty  miles  behind  the  firing  line,  he  directs 
perfectly,  every  forward  and  backward  move 
in  that  inferno  which  his  command  has  opened 
up  "out  there."  In  come  the  reports,  out  go 
his  orders. 

To  hear  the  typewriters  rattling,  the  phones 
ringing,  telegraph  clattering;  to  see  men  all 
about  making  quick  calculations  with  numbers, 
to  see  the  tide  of  incoming  and  outgoing  cor- 
respondence, the  orders,  you  might — were  it 
not  for  the  uniforms — think  you  were  in  the 
office  of  some  great  corporation  instead  of  be- 
ing in  the  Headquarters  of  a  General  whose 
army  was  firing  off  a  quarter  of  a  million  tons 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  139 

of  ammunition  and  trying  to  tear  land  loose 
from  the  invader  with  the  least  possible  sacri- 
fice of  life. 

Pictm'e  that  one  man  there,  studying  that 
map,  staff  officers  running  to  him,  "General 
Baird  telephones  that  he  cannot  hold  unless 
an  Infantry  Brigade  is  sent  to  reinforce  him. 
•  .  .  The  Sixth  Division  wants  an  extra  aero- 
plane squadron.  .  .  .  General  Hooper  says  that 
he  will  soon  be  able  to  put  the  cavalry  into 
action  and  wants  your  approval.  .  .  .  General 
Briggs  says  he  must  have  two  brigades  more 
of  Field  Artillery. 

Scores  of  messages  like  that  are  brought 
to  the  General's  attention.  On  each  one  he 
must  decide  in  a  flash  and  make  the  right  de- 
cision. He  cannot  take  the  proposition  home 
overnight,  like  a  business  man  does.  Over- 
night, the  enemy  might  do  one  hundred  things. 
And  he  must  make  the  right  decision,  or  he 
will  leave  a  hole  in  his  line  through  which  the 
enemy  may  pour  and  crush  him.  The  Lieu- 
tenant who  goes  under  fire,  any  worrying  he 
may  or  may  not  do,  is  nothing  compared  to 
the  staggering  responsibility  that  is  a  Gener- 
al's far  removed  from  the  firing  line  during  a 
battle.     His  orders  control  the  movements  of 


140  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

a  quarter  of  a  million  men.  The  lives  of  a 
quarter  of  a  million  men  are  in  his  hands.  The 
strain  he  is  under,  the  conflicting  reports  ever 
coming  in  that  he  must  instantly  decide  the 
real  value  of,  are  enough  to  drive  a  man  mad. 

Yet,  these  battles  to  come  are  all  really  be- 
ginning in  the  training  camps  with  the  rookies 
harpooning  straw  Huns,  with  the  artillery 
taking  up  dummy  positions.  They'll  get 
nearer  to  it  in  France  in  the  battle  atmosphere. 
There  our  men  will  begin  to  think  in  terms  of 
battle.  And  then  of  a  day  not  far  off,  it  will 
start.  You  will  read  in  the  papers  of  trench 
raids,  and  the  like,  and  then,  of  a  victory — the 
first  victory  for  the  National  Army. 

And  it  ixill  be  a  victory,  for  the  National 
Army  will  not  go  into  action  until  it  is  ready. 
We  are  not  going  to  feed  untrained  troops  into 
the  German  maw,  for  if  there  is  anything  the 
Huns  can  do,  it  is  to  gobble  up  untrained 
armies.  No,  we  are  going  to  fight  the  Hun 
in  effigy,  in  our  training  camps,  and  when  we 
get  ready,  entirely  ready  for  the  job,  we're 
going  after  him — and  harpoon  him  for  all  time. 


CHAPTER   VII 


"eEMEMBER  SAN  JUAN" 


How  they  sing !  They  came  singing.  They 
sang  all  through  their  first  day  in  cantonment. 
They're  singing  to-day.     Hark! 


<c 


De  bells  ob  hell  go  ting -ling -a-ling, 
O  Death  "where  is  thy  sting -ling -a-ling? 
O  ting -ling -a-ling !   O  sting -ling -a-ling! 
No  bells  ob  hell  will  ring -ling -a-ling  fo'  me!" 


We  know  they're  our  boys  coming,  for  none 
in  camp  can  sing  like  them.  Here  they  come 
swinging  out  of  a  Jersey  turnpike  into  Camp 
Dix.  Look  at  the  beautiful  rhythm  of  their 
column,  the  rise  and  fall  of  their  slouch-hatted 
heads,  as  regular  as  the  ocean's  roll.  Hear  the 
tramp  of  their  hob-nailed  feet,  the  steady  un- 
broken swing  of  their  cadence.  "One-two- 
three-four!"  Notice  how  evenly  those  olive 
drab   legs   and  arms  move.      If  motion  has 

141 


'142  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

poetry,  you  see  it  now.  For  it's  instinctive  for 
our  boys  to  drill.  To  hold  a  cadence  is  no 
effort.  It  was  in  them  before  they  became  sol- 
diers. Rhythm  is  in  their  souls.  They  were 
born  with  it — for  they  belong  to  the  Ninety- 
second  Division. 

Never  heard  of  the  Ninety-second?  It's  the 
Negro  Division  of  the  National  Army.  Infan- 
try, Artillery,  trains,  entirely  Negro.  It's  the 
Division  that's  going  to  write  its  name  big  be- 
fore the  Hun  gets  on  his  knees.  And  if  I 
know  the  Hun — if  my  memory  of  the  havoc 
France's  Negro  troops  wrought  against  him  in 
the  autumn  of  1915  in  the  Champagne,  goes 
not  astray — the  Hun  will  come  to  hate  the 
Ninety-second  Division.    Fine! 

"Your  grandfathers  fought  to  give  us  our 
liberty,"  one  of  our  Negro  Lieutenants  told 
me,  "we  are  fighting  to  preserve  yours." 
Ideals.     They  are  there  in  the  Ninety-second. 

Come  with  me  into  our  barracks — for  my 
own  regiment  is  in  that  Division — ^look  over 
the  sort  of  material  we  have.  Notice  that  tall, 
splendidly  set-up  fellow  there  with  chevrons 
on  his  sleeves.  He's  acting  as  our  First  Ser- 
geant. 

"Come  on!    Hurry  up,  yo'  men.    When  ah 


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OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  143 

blows  dat  whistle,  ah  looks  fo'  yo'  all  t'  be  in 
line  in  jess  tu  seconds,"  and  quite  ostenta- 
tiously he  glances  at  a  watch  he  sports  on  his 
^vrist.  He's  had  military  training  before,  the 
Sergeant,  got  it  at  Hampton  Sidney,  the  Ne- 
gro boys'  school. 

Come  into  the  barracks  office.  See  that 
trim  young  fellow  there,  who  seems  so  neat. 
Glance  over  his  shoulder.  He's  steeped  in  the 
"curse  of  the  army,"  checking  up  ^lorning 
Reports,  Duty  Rosters,  Ration  Returns.  He's 
mastered  "Army  Paper  Work."  Question 
him  and  you'll  find  he  left  the  Liberal  Arts 
course  at  Ohio  State  University  for  the  Na- 
tional Army.  When  one  records  that  in  these 
days  of  war  a  Captain  detests  the  hum-drum 
detail  of  voluminous  "paper  work,"  you  can 
imagine  what  a  relief  to  find  a  private  to  whom 
it  can  safely  be  entrusted.  And  we're  finding 
such  reliable,  painstaking  men  right  in  the  Ne- 
gro Division. 

If  you  would  intimately  know  the  Negro, 
you  must  be  with  him,  hour  after  hour.  The 
solicitous  white-coated  man  who  waits  upon 
you  in  a  dining  car,  he  is  not  representative. 
Nor  is  the  eager  bellhop  who  answers  your 
hotel  ring,  "Ice  water.  Boss?"     Nor  is  the 


144  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

shiftless  driver  of  a  team  of  mules.  If  you 
would  understand  the  Negro,  you  must  meet 
him  in  the  composite.  And  it  is  in  the  Na- 
tional Army  that  you  find  the  composite.  You 
find  the  dining  car  waiters,  the  bellhops,  the 
cooks,  the  gang  laborers ;  but  you  find,  too,  the 
high  school  graduate,  the  Negro  college  man, 
the  stenographer  and  typist,  the  young  Negro 
who  left  a  good  job  in  a  bank  to  answer  the 
nation's  call.  You  find  an  abundance  of 
trained  chauffeurs,  a  number  of  men  skilled  in 
trades,  and — Allah  be  praised! — ample  who 
understand  horses  and  the  care  of  them.  An 
Artillery  Captain  is  always  on  the  alert  for 
that.  And  as  you  study  your  men  you  get  a 
new  idea  of  the  Negro  race.  You  appreciate 
its  fight  and  admire  its  pluck.  You  realize 
that  many  of  these  men  have  fought  their  way 
up  through  life;  that  decent  jobs  have  been, 
theirs ;  and  there  is  something  far  more  to  them 
than  "jazz  bands,"  razors  and  dice. 

Their  spirit  is  good.  Do  they  want  to  fight  ? 
Watch  them  as  they  are  gathered  for  a  "con- 
ference" in  the  barracks  mess  hall.  In  an  or- 
derly manner  they  file  in  and  take  seats;  dis- 
cipline comes  easily  to  them.  Their  Captain 
— a  white  officer — surrounded  by  his  Negro 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  145 

Lieutenants  (and  later,  a  word  about  those 
Negro  Lieutenants) ,  is  explaining  to  them  the 
reason  they  are  fighting,  giving  them  the  why 
of  it,  just  as  all  the  white  troops  in  the  Na- 
tional Army  are  being  told. 

"Men,"  the  Captain  tells  them,  "our  coun- 
try will  be  proud  of  its  Ninety-second  Division 
before  the  war  is  over." 

Their  faces  are  quite  solemn  and  set.  There 
is  a  stir  in  the  rear  of  the  hall.  A  young  pri- 
vate who  used  to  drive  a  motor  for  the  IMayor 
of  Jacksonville  jumps  to  his  feet,  snaps  his 
heels  together  and  salutes. 

•'Captain,   may  Private   M say  a  few 

words  to  the  men?"  The  captain  gives  his  con- 
sent and,  a  little  curious,  awaits  developments. 
"I  want  to  impress  on  all  you  fellows,"  begins 
the  private  in  the  best  of  English,  "that  we've 
got  a  reputation  to  keep  up.  Some  of  you 
know  about  San  Juan  hill.  Some  of  you  don't. 
I'll  tell  you.  My  father  was  there.  At  San 
Juan,  the  white  troops  got  in  a  bad  hole.  Thej 
Spaniards  had  the  range  and  were  making  it 
hot  .  .  •  Isn't  that  right.  Captain?"  he 
appealed.  The  Captain  agreed,  and,  encour- 
aged, the  enthusiastic  little  soldier  went  on: 
"Things  would  have  broken  bad  for  the  white 


146  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

troops  if  the  colored  boys  hadn't  come  along. 
Negro  infantry  ran  up  on  the  double,  breezed 
right  through  the  Spaniards'  fire,  got  after 
them  and  gave  them  hell  .  .  .  Pardon  me. 
Captain,"  he  ejaculated  in  alarm,  "but  Teddy 
Roosevelt,  he  said  the  colored  boys  fought  fine 
at  San  Juan.  So  see,  fellows,  we've  got  a  rep- 
utation to  keep  up.  We'll  do  to  the  Germans 
what  our  fathers  did  to  the  Spaniards.  Won't 
we?" 

A  loud,  eager  chorus,  "You  bet  ,  .  . 
We'll  carve  dem  up !  Say,  boy,  no  crap  game 
fight'll  hold  up  to  the  devil  we'll  raise  wif  th' 
old  Kaiser."  A  babel  of  excited  exclamations 
— they  are  nothing  if  not  spontaneous — fills 
the  mess  hall.  The  Captain  holds  up  his  hand 
for  quiet. 

"That's  the  idea,  men,"  he  tells  them.  "Re- 
member San  Juan!" 

There's  no  lackadaisical  air  to  this  Ninety- 
second  Division.  It's  on  its  toes.  It  is  ever 
being  brought  to  the  attention  of  the  men  that 
this  is  the  first  time  in  American  history  that 
there  has  ever  been  a  Division,  a  complete 
fighting  unit  of  over  twenty  thousand  men, 
composed  entirely  of  Negro  soldiers.  They  are 
getting  a  big  pride  in  it.    They  feel  it  a  tangi- 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  147 

ble  sign  of  trust  in  them.  They  feel  they  are 
indeed  Americans,  fighting  shoulder  to  shoul- 
der with  white  Americans  for  common  cause — 
liberty.  And  in  that  there  is  something  fine 
for  our  country. 

Negro  cavalry  regiments,  Negro  infantry, 
they  are  not  new.  But  Negro  Artillery,  that  is 
new.  And  it  is  a  high  compliment  to  him.  It 
is  a  military  truth  that  a  higher  degree  of  in- 
telligence is  needed  for  the  rank  and  file  of  Ar- 
tillery than  for  the  infantry.  Especially  to- 
day. Orders  are  given  the  men  at  the  guns 
and  they  must  set  off  to  a  nicety  certain  num- 
bers on  different  complicated  instruments,  giv- 
ing to  the  gun  its  direction  and  range — aiming 
it  with  mechanical  means.  Now  to  do  that 
swiftly  and  accurately  requires  a  quick  and  re- 
liable mentality.  It  is  the  job  of  the  artillery- 
man in  the  Ninety-second  Division.  France 
has  no  Negro  Artillery;  nor  has  England.  And 
our  boys  know  it.  We  have  told  them.  We 
told  them  to  give  them  pride  in  their  work. 
They  have  that  pride.  Do  you  know  what  I 
heard  one  day?  I  was  going  upstairs  into  the 
squad  room  of  the  barracks  when  a  private's 
elevated  voice  caught  my  ear. 

"Ah  tells  yo'  all  dat  this  am  th'  first  colored 


148  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

artillery  in  all  history.  Boys,  th'  eyes  ob  th' 
whole  colored  race  am  upon  us." 

As  quietly  as  possible  I  retraced  my  steps, 
to  let  them  have  it  out.  That  is  the  encour- 
aging thing,  the  pride  they  have  in  their  new 
work  and  in  their  Ninety-second  Division. 
Pride  is  the  hand-maiden  of  morale.  And 
morale  is  the  soul  of  an  army. 

How  eager  they  were  for  their  uniforms! 
How  they  besieged  us  to  exchange  coats  and 
pants  until  they  got  just  the  right  fit!  If  one 
thought  an  overcoat  wasn't  showing  off  the 
graceful  curves  of  his  back  quite  properly, 
back  he  came  for  another.  And  always  with 
some  excuse,  the  real  reason,  his  desire  to  look 
* 'doggy"  and  smarter  than  his  comrades,  art- 
fully concealed. 

"Captain,"  said  a  tall,  lanky  one,  "this  yere 
overcoat  am  mighty  fine.  It  surely  am  a  swell 
coat — but  Captain  three  ob  th'  buttons  am 
shore  missin'." 

And  he  looked  heartbroken.  The  Supply 
Sergeant  rummaged  through  the  stack  of  coats 
to  find  him  another.  The  "rookie"  followed 
his  every  move,  his  eyes  rolling. 

"Captain,  ef  All  may  suggest  it.  Ah  believes 
one  of  dem  sho'ter  coats  dar,"  and  he  pointed 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  149 

to  a  pile  of  abbreviated  overcoats,  "would  do 
most  becomin'  well." 

Now  it  happened  that  the  early  overcoat 
shortage  made  us  use  the  shorter  coat  of  the 
Engineering  Corps  to  eke  out  the  supply  of 
the  regular  long-length  army  coat.  This 
dusky  "rookie"  had  his  eye  on  one  of  the  short 
coats  and  had  made  up  his  mind  to  get  it.  His 
size  being  unavailable  in  the  regular  lengths, 
he  had  to  be  given  one.  With  glistening  eyes 
he  handed  over  his  long  coat  with  the  three 
buttons  missing  and  received  the  short  coat — 
the  dream  of  his  heart.  How  he  strutted 
around  in  that,  the  envy  of  the  whole  battery! 
And  then  Saturday  inspection  came.  Looking 
over  that  "rookie's"  shelf  for  dust,  a  Lieuten- 
ant found  three  overcoat  buttons. 

"What's  this.  Private  Housam?"  he  asked. 
"Where  did  these  buttons  come  from?" 

Out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye  the  "rookie"  saw 
the  Captain  bearing  down.  Remembering  the 
yarn  he  had  told  about  his  old  coat  being  three 
buttons  short,  he  went  panicky.  Then  show- 
ing his  white  teeth  in  a  grin,  he  said:  "Lieu- 
tenant, Ah  tells  yo'  how  dem  buttons  got  dere, 
but  Ah  do  an  know." 

"You've  got  just  a  minute  to  find  out,  Pri- 


150  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

vate  Housam,"  said  the  Captain,  while  he 
glared  at  the  "rookie's"  short  coat. 

Private  Housam  looked  distressed.  His 
eyes  swam  swiftly  from  one  side  to  the  other, 
like  netted  fish;  then  they  shone  happily. 

"Captain,  Ah  sm^e  knows  now  how  dem  but- 
tons come  dere — yas,  suh,"  and  he  paused  for 
inspiration.  "Yas,  suh.  Some  of  th'  boys 
sweepin'  must  hab  found  'em  on  th'  flo'  and 
jes'  natcherly  laid  'em  on  mah  shelf,  knowin' 
how  Ah  lose  buttons.  Ah  guess  dat  am  a  fail- 
in'  o'  mine.  Captain." 

"It's  a  failure  this  time,  all  right.  Private 
Housam,"  agreed  the  Captain.  "Now  you 
take  that  short  coat  back,  turn  it  in,  and  get 
back  your  long  one.  And  as  you  cut  those 
buttons  off  it,  you  can  take  your  Saturday  and 
Sunday  holiday  this  week  to  sew  them  on. 
Understand?" 

"Yas,  suh.  Yas,  suh!"  And  so  departed 
the  glory  of  the  short  coat.  So  were  dissipated 
all  visions  of  "dogging"  it  over  his  comrades 
and  getting  the  eye  of  the  girls  when  "on  pass" 
he  went  to  town.  Yes,  they'll  try  to  put  one 
over,  some  of  them  "jest  natcherly,"  if  you 
give  them  the  chance ;  but  not  in  a  sinister  way ; 
just  some  harmless  sort  of  thing,  like  the  coat. 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  161 

There  came  to  us  a  bellboy  from  a  well- 
known  Rochester  hotel.     His  training  in  the 

uniform  of  the  hotel,  his  promptness  in  an- 
swering the  head  clerk's  call,  fitted  him  into 
things  at  the  start.  All  went  well  until  the 
day  before  he  was  leaving  on  Christmas  pass. 
It  happened  that  the  Captain  had  been  lectur- 
ing them  before  about  the  uniform. 

"No  leather  leggings  or  cloth  spirals  will 
be  worn  by  any  enlisted  man,"  the  Captain  had 
ordered.  "No  hat  but  the  campaign  hat  that 
has  been  issued  vou." 

It  never  occurred  to  the  Captain  to  warn 
them  about  uniforms.  Hadn't  they  all  been 
given  their  clothing?  But  he  knew  from  ob- 
servation, particularly  on  the  streets  of  New 
lYork,  that  green  privates  on  pass  have  a  way 
of  dolling  up  in  officers'  legwear  and  caps. 
Imagine  his  surprise,  then,  to  have  the  Roches- 
ter bellboy,  his  model  of  deportment  for  the 
battery,  come  into  the  office  with  the  follow- 
ing: 

"Captain,"  he  began  hesitatingly,  "Ah  heard 
yo'  say  somethin'  'bout  what  we  must  wear." 

"Yes,  Private  Coverhill.    What  is  it?" 

"Well,  Captain,"  this  with  an  effort,  "Ah's 
done  gone  an'  bo't  mahself  a  suit." 


152  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

"What  kind  of  a  suit?"  asked  the  Captaiii 
suspiciously. 

"Oh,  jes'  a  nice  liT  suit  fo'  good,"  hastily 
replied  Private  Coverhill.  "In  th'  main,  Ah'd 
say  th'  effect  was  like  th'  one  Ah  haves  on." 

"Go  and  get  it,"  said  the  Captain  ominously. 
Private  Coverhill  looked  distressed.  "It  am 
'most  like  th'  one  Ah  haves  on,"  he  offered. 

"Go  and  get  it,"  repeated  the  Captain,  and 
to  himself  he  said:  "Ye  gods!  What's  this 
kid  blown  in  his  money  on?" 

Presently  there  came  a  timid  knock  on  the 
Captain's  door,  and  Private  Coverhill,  care- 
fully unwrapping  endless  sheets  of  tissue,  dis- 
closed a  natty  olive  drab  serge  uniform.  The 
Captain  almost  jumped  out  of  his  chair. 

"Hold  up  the  pants,"  he  ordered. 

Timidly  the  bellboy  did  as  he  was  bidden.  A 
pair  of  officer's  pants  with  buttons  instead  of 
laces  below  the  knee,  met  the  Captain's  gaze. 

"Now  the  coat." 

And,  of  course,  it  was  the  close-fitting,  high- 
collared  officer's  coat. 

"Now,  Private  Coverhill,  where  did  you  get 
this?" 

"Ah  reads  a  tailor's  notice  in  th'  papers  and 
writes  him." 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  153 

"And?"  asks  the  Captain. 

*'Th'  tailor  he  sends  me  a  paper  t'  fill  out 
wif  mah  measurements.  One  ob  th'  boys  in 
th'  barracks  measures  me." 

"And  then  you  sent  this  tailor — how 
much?" 

"He  says  Ah  gotta  give  him  twenty  dollars, 
and  Ah  does.  And  Ah  must  give  him  ten  dol- 
lars out  ob  mah  pay  for  five  months." 

"Hm,"  muses  the  Captain.  "Seventy  dol- 
lars— for  a  twenty-five-dollar  suit.  What's 
that  tailor's  name?" 

"Ah  has  his  card,  Captain,"  and  Private 
Coverhiil  fished  out  a  thumbed  bit  of  paste- 
board, reading:  Abe  Finhel,  Military  Tailor, 
Trenton,  N.  J. 

"Now,  Private  Coverhiil,  you  leave  the  suit 
with  me  and  give  me  your  receipt  for  the 
twenty.     I'll  get  you  your  money  back." 

The  bellhop's  face  fell.  "Kain't  Ah  wears 
it.  Captain?" 

Laboriously  it  was  explained  to  him  that 
soldiers  wore  one  kind,  officers  another  kind  of 
uniform ;  and  that  the  tailor,  knowing  this,  had 
swindled  him. 

"But  it  sho'ly  do  look  nice  on  me,"  pleaded 
the  bellboy,  with  regret. 


154  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

"That's  all,  Private  Coverhill.   Do  as  I  say." 

White  soldiers  have  to  be  watched  lest  they 
squander  their  money,  but  that  problem  with 
the  colored  boys  is  greater.  Many  of  them  are 
marks  for  the  sharks  that  open  "bargain 
shops"  just  outside  the  military  jurisdiction  of 
every  cantonment.  But  a  few  days  in  camp 
they  were,  and  one  noticed  them  sporting  the 
collar  ornaments,  monogrammed  letters  of  the 
United  States  National  Army  and  crossed 
cannons,  although  these  things  had  yet  to  be 
issued.  Childlike,  they  dove  into  their  pockets 
to  buy  them,  to  get  all  the  "show"  possible  on 
their  uniforms.  That  is  good.  It  is  a  sign  of 
pride  in  their  appearance.  But  against  extrav- 
agance, the  heedless  spending  of  money  which 
they  haven't  got,  a  Captain  of  Negro  troops 
has  to  watch.  For  there  are  alwaj^s  trades- 
people ready  to  get  them  in  over  their  heads. 

But  there  are  others  among  them  as  canny 
as  any  Scot. 

There  were  men  in  my  battery,  a  surpris- 
ingly large  number,  who  voluntarily  deducted 
almost  $7  a  month  from  their  pay  for  the  pur- 
chase of  $10,000  govermnent  war  insurance 
policies — the  limit  by  law  that  any  private  or 
officer  may  take  out.     There  were  others  who 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  155 

allotted  $20  of  their  $30  monthly  pay  to  dif- 
ferent savings  banks.  All  were  loyal  to  their 
families,  allotting  to  them  the  one-half  of  their 
pay  that  the  government  compels,  and  more 
besides.  I  went  over  these  allotment  blanks  of 
my  battery,  spending  considerable  time  upon 
them,  seeking  an  idea  of  the  sense  of  respon- 
sibility different  men  had.  I  was  relieved  to 
find  that  only  about  one  out  of  every  five  was 
obviously  shiftless  and  thoughtless,  allotting 
nothing  for  insurance  or  savings.  A  high  av- 
erage of  thrift,  that  of  80  per  cent.  But  as 
always  in  life,  the  commendable  is  common- 
place while  the  condemnable  upthrusts  its  head 
in  the  news. 

But  in  the  recording  of  those  instances  of 
the  squandering  of  money  on  officers'  uniforms 
and  the  like,  one  hopes  that  the  impression  has 
not  been  given  that  the  Negro  soldiers  are  all 
that  way.  I  recall  a  man  we  have  in  mind  for 
Stable  Sergeant.  His  record  cards  showed 
him  married  and  with  three  children.  Some- 
where an  Exemption  Board  had  blundered. 
He  told  me  one  night  as  we  were  trying  him 
out  on  horses — he  had  tended  horses  for  ten 
years  in  Texas  before  turning  traitor  and  tak- 
ing a  chauffeur's  job : 


156  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

"All  Ah  want,"  he  said,  "is  to  know  dat  mah 
wife  an'  babies  are  comferable." 

"How  are  they  fixed?"  the  Captain  asked. 

"Capt'n,  Ah  figure  dat  mah  wife  can  get 
along  all  right  fo'  a  while.  Ah  saved  mah 
money,  an'  she  can  use  dat.  And  Ah  figures 
dat  if  a  man  does  what  he's  told  in  th'  army 
an'  does  it  good,  dat  he'll  get  along.  Ah  fig- 
ures dat  th'  officers  are  dere  because  they 
knows  what  t'  do  o'  they  wouldn't  be  over  us. 
Th'  gov'ment  ain't  no  fool.  So  if  a  man  obeys 
his  officers  an'  works  hard,  he'll  get  along. 
iVo,"  he  added,  with  confidence,  "Ah  ain't 
:worryin'.    Ah  gets  along." 

And  as  he  works,  he  will. 

As  Mustering  Officer  for  our  regiment  there 
came  across  my  desk  all  the  documents  from 
all  the  Exemption  Boards  for  all  our  men.  I 
made  it  a  point  to  notice  those  w^ho  had  asked 
for  exemption,  and  later  to  ask  them  why. 
One  was  surprised  to  find  that  a  surprisingly 
small  number  of  the  Negroes  called  to  the  col- 
ors had  sought  exemption.  Questioning  de- 
veloped that  the  life  appealed  to  some  of  them 
— the  end  of  worry  over  financial  troubles. 
The  $30  a  month,  clothes,  board  and  lodging 
looked  good.     More   of  them  thought   they 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  157 

would  like  Army  life :  the  drill,  the  uniform — 
particularly  the  uniform — and  for  the  adven- 
ture of  crossing  the  seas  and  seeing  a  new 
land  they  can  scarcely  wait.  And  then,  just 
like  in  any  white  regiment,  we  had  our  minor- 
ity quota  of  those  who  had  thought  about  the 
war  before  coming  to  camp,  who  believed  in 
the  justice  of  our  cause  and  that  it  was  their 
duty  as  Americans  to  fight. 

To  be  sure,  they  are  not  entirely  like  white 
troops.  They  must  be  officered  differently. 
The  discipline  must  be  iron.  Let  down  the 
bars  a  bit  and  they'll  come  cavorting  through 
like  a  bevy  of  calves.  One  must  give  all  sol- 
diers a  square  deal.  But  one  must  let  the 
'Negro  soldier  know  that  he  is  getting  a  square 
deal.  For  he  is  often  suspicious.  We  choose 
some  of  the  best  among  them  and  put  them 
into  a  Non-Commissioned  Officers'  school.  A 
few  days  after  the  selection  was  made  one  no- 
ticed an  uneasiness  in  the  battery.  Some  of 
the  men  seemed  to  have  lost  their  punch.  They 
drilled  listlessly.  An  investigation  to  learn 
what  had  so  unexpectedly  injured  their  morale 
disclosed  that  the  Buffalo  men  in  the  battery 
believed  they  were  being  discriminated  against 
in  favor  of  the  men  from  Syracuse.    Had  not 


158  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

seven  Syracuse  "rookies"  been  put  into  the 
"Non-Corn"  School  against  only  five  froiji 
Buffalo?  That  situation  was  not  put  to  sleep 
until  the  men  from  both  cities  were  called  into 
the  mess  hall  and  convinced  that  all  we  were 
looking  for  was  "results." 

Every  battery  is  bound  to  turn  up  its  bully. 
One  comes  to  mind — Big  Judson,  by  name. 
Judson  was  a  husky  porter,  who  seemed  ob- 
sessed with  the  idea  that  the  mantle  of  Jack 
Johnson  had  descended  upon  his  shoulders. 
Put  on  "kitchen  police"  one  day — cleaning 
pots  for  the  cook  and  peeling  his  potatoes — 
Big  Judson  ran  amuck.  Slamming  a  pot  on 
the  floor,  he  started  to  walk  out. 

"Come  back  yere,  nigger!"  called  the  cook. 

Big  Judson  looked  incredulous.  "Say,  looka 
yere,  niggah,"  he  brawled,  "where  Ah  comes 
from  dey  calls  mah  kind  bad  coons." 

"Let  me  tell  yo'  sumptin',  nigger,"  the  cook 
bawled  at  him.  "Where  Ah  comes  from  dey 
calls  yo'  kind  Sweet  Marie."  And  the  fight 
was  on.    Also,  Big  Judson  got  it. 

The  first  time  we  put  them  on  sentry  duty 
there  was  trouble.  We  pounded  into  them  the 
fact  that  on  post  they  were  boss.  We  ordered 
one  of  them  to  guard  a  pile  of  coal  that  had 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  159 

teen  dumped  along  a  spur  of  railroad  track 
fronting  our  regiment — a  reserve  pile  for 
emergency  needs.  Sporting  a  big  axe  handle, 
Private  Wallington  tramped  up  and  down 
glaring  at  any  one  who  approached  the  coal. 
He  had  been  told  not  to  let  a  soldier  or  officer 
take  coal  from  that  pile  without  written  per- 
mission, and  nobody  would — not  if  he  knew  it. 
Late  in  the  afternoon  there  came  a  frantic 
message  from  a  Captain  of  the  regiment  next 
door: 

"For  God's  sake,  call  off  that  sentry  of 
yours!  We  sent  two  of  our  men  over  to  get 
coal  and  he  laid  them  both  out  with  an  axe 
handle." 

It  developed  that  our  sentry  had  seen  sol- 
diers going  at  a  coal  pile  down  the  road.  All 
coal  piles  looked  alike  to  him,  and  going  after 
the  two  poor  privates  of  another  regiment, 
brandishing  his  axe  handle  and  bellowing 
fiercely,  he  had  driven  them  off.  The  orders 
of  the  outraged  Captain  of  the  two  privates 
he  had  scorned,  informing  him:  "Ah  takes 
orders  from  mah  Capt'n,  an'  no  one  else/" 

One  night  when  the  Officer  of  the  Day 
made  his  rounds  inspecting  the  sentries  on  post 
between  midnight  and  dawn,  he  found  one 


160  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

poor  fellow  on  guard  over  an  empty  row  of 
barracks  with  his  teeth  chattering.  As  the 
Officer  of  the  Day  had  approached  the  post, 
he  had  waited  in  vain  for  "Halt!  Who's 
there?"  to  ring  out.  Instead,  he  heard  some- 
thing like  a  groan,  and,  hurrying  forward,  he 
found  the  sentry  with  both  hands  flung  over 
his  head.  "Oh — h-h,"  he  wailed,  "Jesus  hab 
mercy  on  mah  soul!" 

"What's  the  matter  with  you.  Private  Per- 
kins?" asked  the  Officer  of  the  Day.  The 
negro  gulped.  His  eyes  opened  wide.  He 
tried  to  speak,  tried  again.  Cautiously  he 
w^alked  around  the  officer,  peering  at  him. 

"Oh,  it's  yo,'  Lieutenant!    God  be  praised!" 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  repeated  the 
officer. 

"Lieutenant,"  whispered  Private  Perkins, 
"dey's  been  some  one  a-knockin'  at  dat  bar- 
racks door  all  night.  The  boys  was  sayin'  how 
they  hears  a  workman  wuz  killed  in  dere  'bout 
a  month  ago.  And  Ah  jes'  natcherly  hears 
him  a-knockin'." 

"Rubbish,  Private  Perkins!"  said  the  Lieu- 
tenant.   "There  are  no  ghosts." 

"Don't  say  that.  Lieutenant,"  warned  the 
private,  looking  over  his  shoulders.     "Yo'  is 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  161 

an  officer,  but  dat  makes  no  differential  to  a 
ghost." 

But  we  have  only  a  few  like  that.  Out  of 
the  entire  battery  only  ten  per  cent,  were 
found  to  be  illiterates,  unable  to  read  or  write. 
Xow  they're  attending,  when  off  duty,  a  school 
organized  by  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  which  has  its 
shacks  in  the  cantonments,  for  negro  as  well 
as  for  the  white  soldiers. 

They  like  the  army  food  and  when  the  cry 
"Come  and  get  it" — the  army's  way  of  an- 
nouncing a  meal  is  served — there  is  a  mad 
stampede  for  the  mess  hall.  At  the  door  it 
magically  becomes  orderly,  and  one  by  one  our 
colored  boys  file  in,  and,  taking  their  place  at 
table,  stand  at  attention.  Then,  calling  upon 
a  different  man  each  meal,  the  First  Sergeant 
bawls  out:  "Private  Jones  will  ask  the  Lawd's 
blessing  on  th'  food  we  are  about  to  receive." 
And  Private  Jones  asks  the  blessing,  where- 
upon they  dive  into  the  "chow"  that  former 
dining  car  cooks  and  two  hotel  cooks,  all  blown 
in  by  the  draft,  have  prepared  for  them. 

From  Qualification  Record  Cards  that  the 
men  fill  out  I  discovered  that  one  rookie  had 
been  Chief  Cook  in  a  Buffalo  hotel.  I  was 
congratulating  myself  on  having  discovered  a 


162  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

potential  Mess  Sergeant,  and  sent  for  him. 
After  outlining  the  nature  of  the  work  planned 
for  him  and  the  chance  it  gave  him  of  winning 
a  Sergeancy,  I  asked  him  what  he  thought 
of  it. 

"Please,  Captain,"  he  begged,  "don't  go 
puttin'  me  in  th'  kitchen.  Ah  wants  t'  drill 
an'  be  a  soldier — not  a  cook.  Ah  wants  t'  do 
mah  drill  good  'cause  Ah  thinks  if  Ah  do, 
mebbe  Ah  gets  a  chance  at  th'  new  officers' 
training  camp  they'll  be  openin'  fo'  colored 
boys  pretty  soon." 

He  was  ambitious,  .sincere,  and,  having 
enough  cooks  without  him,  we  gave  him  his 
chance  to  drill.  And  every  day  he's  out  there 
working  like  a  fiend,  his  eyes  fixed  on  that 
training  camp  for  Negro  Officers  which  may  or 
may  not  come. 

For  just  as  white  officers  were  made  at  the 
R.  O.  T.  C.  camps  of  1917,  so  were  there 
negro  officers.  Their  camp  was  at  Des 
Moines,  and  to  us  from  there  came  all  our 
lieutenants.  Some  artillery  regiments  of  the 
Ninety-second  Division  have  no  white  officers 
of  lower  rank  than  Captain.  With  extreme 
care,  the  material  for  the  Des  IVIoines  camp 
must  have  been  chosen,  for  there  came  to  us  a 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  16S 

fine,  snappy  quota  of  lieutenants.  Non-Com- 
missioned  officers  from  the  crack  cavalry  and 
infantry  regiments  of  our  Regular  Army  were 
detailed  to  the  Des  Moines  Camp;  likewise 
negro  lawyers,  school  teachers,  highly  intelli- 
gent men  from  government  departments.  One 
of  our  lieutenants  has  completed  his  work  for 
a  Harvard  M.A.  degree,  another  never  grad- 
uated from  grammar  school,  but  he  did  gradu- 
ate from  the  cavalry  school  of  the  Regular 
Army,  and  when  he  says  ''Aiien-shun!'\  atten- 
tion it  is,  with  no  nonsense. 

Watch  these  Lieutenants  take  the  men  out 
to  drill.  *'One — two — three — four!"  their  hob- 
nailed field  shoes  beating  out  a  rumble  to  the 
count.  *'Keep  your  eyes  off  the  ground!" 
There  they  go  now,  with  chins  high,  the  sense 
of  rhythm  which  by  birth  is  theirs,  keeping  the 
whole  column  in  an  even  swing,  pretty  to  look 
upon.  And  now  they're  at  the  guns.  "Can- 
oneers — Posts!"  To  their  positions  beside  the 
dull  steel  three-inchers  they  dart.  "Prepare 
for  action!"  With  catlike  grace  they  glide  this 
way  and  that — a  clink  as  the  breach  is  opened, 
a  clash  as  the  top  shield  is  lifted. 

And  one  looks  into  the  future,  and  sees  the 
scarred  face  of  France,  the  low  ridges  of  the 


164  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

trenches,  the  blackened  skeletons  of  trees,  the 
earth  pockmarked  with  the  holes  of  the  shells, 
and  one  sees  there,  in  a  field  of  Alsace,  swiftly 
moving  about  one  of  our  eager  field  guns,  our 
Negro  Artillerymen.  The  air  shakes  and  quiv- 
ers with  the  passing  of  the  shells,  but  they  heed 
it  not.  Their  minds  are  on  the  gun,  and  that 
alone.  They  were  schooled  in  that  in  canton- 
ment. "Battery  two  rounds — 3200!"  a  Lieu- 
tenant shouts.  Like  fiends  they  work,  speak- 
ing no  word.  A  rattle  as  the  shrapnel  is 
turned  in  the  fuse  setter;  the  clash  of  the 
breech  shutting — "Fire!"  And  'way  out  there 
— four  quick  dabs  of  shrapnel  smoke,  like 
floating  cotton.  And  then  our  Infantry  going 
up  under  our  barrage,  our  Infantry  of  the 
Ninety-second  grinning  in  that  terrible  way 
that  the  Hun  first  came  to  fear  in  the  Sen- 
galese  troops  of  France.  "Give  them  hell, 
boys!    Remember  San  Juan!" 

Nor  will  they  forget  the  goal  that  our  Negro 
soldiers  of  '98  set  them — our  boys  of  the 
Ninety- Second  Division. 


CHAPTER    VIII 


*Vhat  our  soldiers  like" 


After  a  man  has  worn  the  uniform  for  a 
time,  his  likes  and  dislikes  are  re-born.  What 
pleased  him  when  he  was  a  civilian  no  longer 
always  pleases  him.  What  he  disliked  when 
he  was  at  home  he  now  often  likes.  His  tastes 
have  undergone  as  decided  a  change  as  has  his 
body  in  response  to  the  military  training.  Now 
if  you  would  understand  the  man  in  uniform, 
you  must  get  on  the  inside  and  understand  in 
what  way  he  has  changed.  If  you  would  un- 
derstand him,  you  must  come  to  know  the  kind 
of  letters  he  likes  to  receive,  and  the  kind  that 
give  him  a  pain.  There  are  songs  he  likes  and 
songs  he  loathes.  There  are  books  he  likes  and 
books  he  tosses  aside  without  even  opening 
a  cover.  There  are  speeches  he  likes  and 
speeches  that  make  him  writhe.  There  is  food 
he  likes  and  food  he  regards  in  scorn.  There 
are  things  folks  send  him  that  fill  him  with  joy 

165 


166  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

and  things  that  leave  him  with  a  sort  of  empty 
feeling.  There  are  officers  he  likes  and  officers 
he  dislikes. 

The  arrival  of  the  mail  in  a  National  Army 
Cantonment  is  a  big  event.  The  soldiers  line 
up  and  as  their  names  are  called  they  step  out 
to  receive  their  letters  and  packages.  It  is 
always  the  occasion  of  good-natured  banter- 
ing. Those  who  do  not  receive  mail  pretend 
that  they  are  in  a  terrible  rage.  A  soldier  who 
draws  down  three  or  four  letters  is  a  subject 
for  an  hour's  kidding.  One  day,  not  so  long 
ago,  a  soldier  who  had  come  in  from  a  hard 
morning's  drill,  heard  his  name  called  out  for 
mail  and  was  happy.  Gleefully  obtaining  his 
letter,  he  sprawled  off  on  his  bunk  to  read  it. 
As  he  read,  he  scowled ;  for  the  rest  of  the  day 
he  had  a  grouch.  Always  a  good,  conscien- 
tious worker,  there  was  a  change  in  that  sol- 
dier during  the  afternoon's  drill.  His  Captain 
noticed  it  and  ordered  him  into  the  company 
office.  Now  it  is  part  of  the  Captain's  job  to 
keep  his  eye  on  every  man  under  him,  and  if  a 
soldier  seems  discontented  to  learn  instantly 
the  reason  for  it.  Questioning  developed  the 
fact  that  the  soldier  had  gone  to  pieces  because 
of  the  letter  he  had  received  from  home. 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  167 


''Captain, "  he  said,  "that's  what  was  sent  me 
to  read,"  and  he  showed  his  superior  the  let- 
ter, which  read: 

*'My  Dear,  Darling  Eoy: 

"Things  are  terrible.  God  must  be  punish- 
ing the  world  for  its  wickedness.  Do  you  still 
smoke  cigarettes.  Bob?  We  are  not  allowed 
to  buy  very  much  sugar.  Tommy  has  been  out 
of  school  for  a  week  with  a  bad  cold.  I  am 
not  feeling  very  well,  and  your  father  slipped 
the  other  morning  on  the  pavement  and  turned 
his  ankle — although  he  told  me  not  to  say  any- 
thing about  it  to  you.  If  the  war  keeps  on,  I 
suppose  I  won't  be  able  to  get  sugar  to  put  up 
preserves.  I  don't  see  what  the  army  has  to 
have  you  for  when  I  see  lots  of  other  young 
men  walking  the  streets  and  going  about  their 
work  just  as  if  there  wasn't  any  war.  The 
butcher  was  telling  me  the  other  morning  that 
soon  we  won't  be  able  to  buy  much  pork,  that 
they've  got  to  send  it  all  to  Europe.  The  war 
is  certainly  a  terrible  thing.  We  were  foolish 
to  have  gone  into  it.  Only  the  other  morning 
the  delicatessen  man  was  saying  we'd  never 
beat  the  Germans.  I  can't  understand  how 
you  were  ever  so  crazy  as  to  want  to  become  a 
soldier.  Lovingly, 

"Mother." 

That  kind  of  letter  the  soldier  calls  a  "belly 


168  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION" 

ache."  It  does  no  good.  It  causes  the  soldier 
much  unnecessary  worry,  and  more  than  often 
it  makes  him  thoroughly  out  of  patience.  We 
are  going  through  the  period  that  France  went 
through  in  the  early  part  of  the  war.  Then 
it  was  the  civilian  population  in  France  that 
complained;  not  the  soldiers.  That  gave  rise 
to  an  expression  in  the  French  Army,  "We 
will  win  if  the  civilians  hold  out."  Now  the 
soldier  doesn't  get  any  more  sugar  than  you 
do,  but  he  conserves  it.  Compare  what  you 
use  and  what  he  uses.  For  every  gallon  of 
coffee  that  is  made  in  the  armv  seven  ounces 
of  sugar  are  allowed.  No  sugar  is  put  on  the 
table;  the  coffee  is  sweetened  before  it  comes 
to  the  table.  So  you  see  the  effect  a  complain- 
ing letter  has  upon  him.  He  knows  that  he  is 
working  like  the  very  devil,  and  that  his  offi- 
cers are  too.  He  knows  he  is  living  in  a  day 
w^hen  sacrifices  have  to  be  made.  So  don't, 
when  you  write  him,  fill  your  letter  with  little 
complaints  of  that  sort.  Don't  write  anything 
that  isn't  cheerful.  If  there's  bad  news,  keep 
it  to  yourself.  He's  got  enough  to  bother 
with.  He's  got  a  song  that  he  loves  to  sing. 
It  runs:  "Pack  all  your  troubles  in  your  old 
kit  bag,  and  smile!  smile!  smile!" 


\ 

OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  169 

One  hears  soldiers  singing  that  when  they 
come  in  after  three  hours'  marching  cross- 
country, over  fences  and  dog  tired.  Smile, 
smile,  smile! — that's  the  thing.  Smile  in  your 
letters,  if  you  care  to  bring  happiness  to  those 
of  whom  you  think  enough  to  wTite.  Don't 
tell  your  soldier  that  he  is  a  hero.  He  hates 
that.  Don't  indulge  in  "spread-eagle"  pa- 
triotism in  your  letters  if  you  would  refrain 
from  giving  him  a  pain.  He  doesn't  need  to 
be  taught  patriotism.    He's  got  it. 

Rather  the  most  popular  kind  of  a  letter 
supplies  the  thing  he  is  crazy  for — news.  Give 
him  little  bits  of  new^s  of  the  people  he  knows, 
their  goings  and  comings.  Nothing  is  too 
trivial  to  retell.  Don't  think  that  you're  going 
to  make  him  envious  of  your  good  times.  They 
paint  the  picture  of  a  day  to  which  he  looks 
forward — the  day  he  goes  home  on  furlough. 

Now  to  the  cantonments  comes  another  kind 
of  a  letter.  One  such  came  to  cantonment  in 
a  daintily  perfumed  envelope  that  fell  into  the 
clutches  of  an  ex-teamster,  now  an  artillery 
"swing  driver."    Unbelievingly  he  read: 

"My  Soldier  Boy: 

"After  finishing  this  letter,  I  am  going 
down  and  buy  a  newspaper,  and  the  name  of 


170  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

the  first  soldier  I  see  in  print — well,  that's  you 
— I  am  going  to  address  and  post  that  letter 
to  you.  I  have  never  met  3^ou.  But  you  don't 
think  I  am  doing  anything  wrong,  do  you? 
Of  course  I  am  not  signing  this  with  my  real 
name.  But  if  you  want  me  to  write  to  you 
often,  just  reply  to  the  address  given  below. 
Do  you  want  me  to  tell  you  how  the  country 
looks  down  here  in  Dixie?  or  do  you  want  me 
to  write  you  love  letters,  very  warm  and  thrill- 
ing? What  harm  would  it  be?  You  would 
never  see  me.  My  mother  would  say  that  this, 
was  indiscreet,  but  I  love  to  be  indiscreet. 
Don't  5^ou — oh,  my  soldier  boy?  .   .   . 

The  letter  ran  on  that  way  for  six  pages. 
The  soldier  who  got  it  said  something  like 
*'Oh,  hell!"  and  proceeded  to  read  it  aloud  to 
some  of  his  "bunkies."  Upon  it  they  took 
council:  "Bet  she's  a  blonde.  Bill." 
"Naw.  Those  light-haired  babies  are  ice- 
bergs." 

"Sure,"  Sammy  agreed,  "the  bird  who  wrote 
that  had  lots  of  pep." 

"Well,  let's  answer  it." 

"Sure,  make  it  a  daisy." 

Need  one  record  that  it  was  "some  answer" 
and  that  one  silly,  romantic  girl  was  cured? 
She  never  wrote  again  to  "her  soldier  boy." 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  171 

Which  brings  us  to  the  question  of  writing 
to  soldiers  whom  .you  don't  know  and  who  for 
reasons  best  known  to  yourself  you  would  fain 
cheer  up.  There  is  a  considerable  amount  of 
such  correspondence.  But  if  you  don't  want 
to  bore  your  soldier,  don't  fill  it  with  a  lot  of 
sentimental  nonsense.  He  tires  of  that  just  as 
quickly  as  he  tires  of  hash.  That  kind  of  letter 
from  a  girl  to  a  soldier  she  doesn't  know,  a 
heritage  from  France  at  war,  is  all  right  and 
the  soldier  appreciates  it  and  studiously  an- 
swers— if  he  thinks  he  isn't  writing  to  a  "nut." 
Then  again  soldiers  steer  clear  of  these  wild 
love  letters  from  girls  whom  they  have  never 
met.  I  know  of  a  case  of  a  soldier  who  re- 
ceived one  and  wrote  the  most  endearing  re- 
ply. A  week  later  he  got  a  letter  from  some 
former  comrades  who  had  been  transferred  to 
another  camp.  Their  letter  ended  up  with 
some  warm  quotation  from  his  own  letter  to 
the  supposed  girl.  For  the  girl  letter  he  had 
received  was  a  fake  devised  by  his  former  com- 
rades, nothing  more  than  a  cruel  practical 
joke.  To  make  it  worse,  they  tipped  off  some 
of  the  fellows  in  his  own  company,  with  the 
result  that  the  poor  soldier  got  an  awful  kid- 
ding about  the  longing  he  had  to  "meet  a  girl 


172  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

as  sweet  as  you."  He  came  to  be  called  "Love 
and  Kisses."  Sting  him  just  once  and  the 
soldier  gets  awfully  careful.  So,  after  all,  the 
good  crisp,  newsy  letter  is  the  thing — if  you 
don't  know  him  well  enough  to  write  the  other 
and  quite  desirable  kind.  Which,  when  they 
come  from  the  right  person,  are  as  welcome  as 
the  double  issue  of  blankets  on  a  cold  night. 

We  had  a  speaker  come  to  camp.  He  was 
a  very  good  speaker.  Indeed,  he  was  what 
one  would  call  an  orator.  He  understood  how 
to  bring  a  catch  into  his  voice,  how  to  let  his 
eyes  seem  to  grow  moist,  how  to  straighten  up 
and  thunder.  He  was  a  man  very  prominent 
in  public  life.  Thousands  of  soldiers  had 
packed  into  the  auditorium  to  hear  him. 
After  talking  for  fifteen  minutes  without  say- 
ing anything,  he  paused,  and  said:  "Boys,  I 
envy  you.  I  wish  I  were  with  you."  ( I  heard 
the  soldier  whisper:  "If  he  wants  to  be  in  the 
army  so  bad,  I  guess  they'd  let  him  enlist.") 
"Bo3^s,  3^ou're  going  over  to  France,  and  some 
of  you  are  not  coming  back."  Every  soldier  in 
the  hall  glared  at  him.  Soldiers  don't  want  to 
be  told  that  they  are  going  to  "get  it."  That 
is  a  subject  they  never  discuss;  that's  mutually 
taboo.    They  become  fatalists  sooner  or  later. 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  173 

and  their  expression  is,  "in  luck"  and  "out  of 
luck."  If  you  "get  it,"  you're  "out  of  luck." 
That's  all  the  attention  on  the  surface  they  pay 
to  "it."  So  the  speech  which  tells  them  that 
they  are  going  to  lay  down  their  lives  in  a 
noble  cause  makes  them  thoroughly  sick. 
Also,  they  detest  the  "spread-eagle"  speech, 
for  they  are  quick  to  detect  the  sincere  from 
the  insincere.  When  they  hear  a  civilian  rant- 
ing to  them  about  the  sacrifices  they  must 
make  and  all,  etc.,  the  first  thought  that  comes 
to  them  is:   "Why  isn't  that  guy  in  uniform?" 

Soldiers  want  facts.  They  think  in  facts, 
work  in  facts,  their  life  is  fact. 

We  had  a  high  officer  of  the  British  Army 
speak  to  the  men.  He  spoke  for  an  hour  and 
a  half,  and  held  their  interest  every  minute. 
When  he  finished  there  was  a  thunder  of  ap- 
plause. He  talked  to  the  men  in  their  own 
language,  told  them  things  they  wanted  to 
know,  answered  a  hundred  of  their  unspoken 
questions.  He  didn't  flatter  them  once.  He 
scrupulously  refrained  from  telling  them  what 
fine  young  men  they  were.  He  was  the  most 
popular  man  who  had  ever  spoken  to  them. 
As  an  example  of  what  interests  a  soldier : 

"Men,"  he  said,  "your  officers  have  told  you 


174  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

that  you  must  always  be  neat  and  clean.  Let 
me  tell  you  why  your  officers  insist  on  that. 
At  the  start  of  the  war  we  English  were  going 
to  be  very  clever,  so  we  took  the  brass  buttons 
off  the  soldiers'  uniforms,  the  buttons  they 
liked,  and  we  covered  them  with  a  preparation 
that  made  them  dark.  That  was  our  big  idea. 
They  couldn't  any  longer  reflect  the  sun  and 
betray  our  position  to  the  Hun.  That  meant 
the  soldiers  didn't  have  to  polish  their  buttons 
any  more.    Right ! 

"Before  we  realized  it,  that  freedom  from 
polishing  spread  to  the  soldiers'  feet.  They 
got  careless  about  their  shoes.  Then  after 
looking  at  their  feet,  if  they  saw  a  stain  on 
their  pants  they  said :  'Oh,  we  look  dirty,  any- 
how; what's  the  use  of  bothering  about  our 
breeches?'  And  then  they  got  careless  about 
shaving,  and  then  in  the  trenches  one  day  Bill 
looked  over  at  his  comrade  Jack.  Jack's  uni- 
form was  spotted.  He  had  been  several  days 
without  a  shave,  and  Bill  thought: 

"  *I  wonder  if  I  look  like  that  dirty,  disrep- 
utable bum  over  there?  I  wonder  if  a  beggar 
like  that  will  ever  get  up  nerve  enough  to  go 
over  the  top  when  the  order  comes?' 

"And  as  Bill  looked  at  his  comrade  he  shook 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  175 

his  head  dubiously.  Before  we  knew  it,  that 
feeling  had  reached  our  whole  army.  The 
men  began  to  attack  like  bums.  Bums,  I  said. 
Bight ! 

"So  we  had  all  the  blackened  buttons  taken 
off  our  soldiers'  uniforms  and  the  brass  ones 
put  back  on,  and  then  we  issued  an  order  say- 
ing that  every  man  was  to  have  his  buttons 
polished,  his  shoes  shined,  his  clothes  cleaned, 
and  his  face  shaved  every  day.  It  made  all 
the  difference  in  the  world.  They  began  to 
fight  like  men  instead  of  like  bums. 

"And  I'll  tell  you  something  else,  men: 
You've  heard  a  lot  about  the  charming  girls 
of  France.  Now  when  you  go  over  there  those 
French  girls  will  have  eyes  on  you.  Theyill 
want  to  size  you  up.  But  Mademoiselle  has 
seen  loads  of  soldiers  march  by.  She  is  a 
pretty  good  judge  by  now.  I  want  to  warn 
you,  men,  the  girls  of  France  are  very  charm- 
ing, but  they  are  very  critical — oh,  very  criti- 
cal. In  three  years  they  have  seen  lots  of  sol- 
diers— lots  of  soldiers." 

That  made  a  big  laugh.  Soldiers  like  to 
laugh. 

Now  the  officers  that  a  soldier  likes  are 
strangely  enough  those  officers  v/ho  know  their 


176  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

business  and  who  hold  him  right  up  to  the 
mark.  They  like  the  officer  who  every  once 
in  a  while  shows  them  that  he  is  human.  Now, 
when  a  soldier  is  at  "Attention"  in  ranks,  he 
may  not  utter  a  sound  or  move.  When  the 
command  "Rest!"  is  given,  he  may  smoke, 
sing,  do  anything  he  wants.  One  day,  at  a 
very  formal  ceremony,  the  Corporals  were  re- 
porting their  squads  to  the  Captain.  The  Cor- 
poral of  the  first  squad  reported:  "Sir,  one 
private  absent."  The  Corporal  of  the  second 
squad:  "Sir,  all  present."  The  Corporal  in 
the  third  squad  was  a  new  man  who  was  being 
tried  out — an  Irishman  with  a  brogue  that  you 
could  cut  with  a  knife.  He  made  his  report 
this  way: 

"Captain,  I  have  had  the  devil's  own  time 
locatin'  me  men.  Now  Flaherty,  he  do  be  in 
the  kitchen  peelin'  potatoes.  Hogan,  he  be 
over  to  the  hospital.  But  I'm  thinkin'  there's 
a  bit  of  blarney,  to  Hogan's  bein'  sick.  Jones 
is  out  diggin'  a  trench  like  any  dago — bad  cess 
to  thim !  And  the  other  three  laddy  bucks,  the 
divvul  knows  where  they  are." 

The  Captain  was  almost  convulsed  with 
laughter,  but  kept  his  face  straight.  Out  of 
the  corner  of  his  eye  he  saw  that  the  men  were 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  177 

having  an  awful  time  of  it,  clenching  their 
teeth  to  keep  from  bursting  out  laughing.  In- 
stantly he  shouted  at  them  the  command 
"Rest!"  and  the  whole  battery  broke  into  one 
shout  at  the  Irishman. 

That  was  only  a  little  thing,  but  it  helped 
that  officer  to  win  his  men.  If  he  had  held 
them  there  at  "Attention!"  he  would  have  lost 
a  beautiful  and  logical  chance  for  him  to  show 
them  that  he  was  human,  ready  to  join  in  a 
laugh  with  them. 

It  is  a  strange  thing,  but  the  man  in  the 
ranks  will  very  generally  like  his  Captain 
much  better  than  his  Lieutenants.  That  is 
because  some  Lieutenants  look  so  very  young 
— the  "shave  tails."  The  men  sometimes  get 
an  idea  that  their  Sergeants  are  just  as  good, 
if  not  better,  than  some  of  their  Lieutenants. 
They  are  invariably  wrong  in  this  opinion,  but 
they  somehow  seem  to  reach  it  just  the  same, 
whereas  such  a  thing  never  enters  their  head 
about  a  Captain.  The  higher  rank  gives  them 
a  great  trust  in  him.  They  seem  to  think  that 
the  Captain  has  their  welfare  more  at  heart. 
They  see  him  going  in  the  kitchen  and  tasting 
the  food  they  eat.  They  know  he  is  ready  at 
all  times  to  listen  to  any  grievance  they  may 


178  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

feel.  They've  got  lots  of  confidence  in  him. 
They  don't  like  the  officer  who  will  not  give 
them  a  "square  deal."  Of  course  in  a  great 
army  there  are  bound  to  be  such.  Not  many 
in  ours. 

They  don't  like  the  officer  who  everlastingly 
divides  life  into  two  parts,  black  and  white. 
They  don't  like  the  officer  who  will  not  make 
allowances  for  circumstances. 

I  know  of  a  Captain  who  was  confronted 
with  a  "black  and  white"  situation,  an  un- 
avoidable occurrence  preventing  a  deserving 
soldier  from  getting  his  name  on  the  pass  list 
for  ten  o'clock,  who  went  to  see  the  Colonel  of 
the  regiment  to  get  special  permission  for  that 
man  to  go  away.  The  soldiers  gossiped,  the 
incident  was  repeated  around  the  company; 
and  the  men  got  an  idea  that  their  Captain 
would  look  after  them.  They  became  loyal  to 
him.  A  highly  desirable  thing — a  most  val- 
uable asset  when  they  go  under  fire  for  the 
first  time. 

The  soldier  likes  the  officer  who  gives  him  a 
square  deal.  He  likes  the  officer  who  looks 
after  his  food,  or  "chow,"  as  he  calls  it.  He 
likes  the  officer  who  makes  sure  that  his  men 
have  enough  blankets,  who  will  not  overwork 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  179 

them  unless  there  is  necessity  for  it,  who  lets 
his  men  come  to  him  for  information  and  ad- 
vice. They  do  not  like  the  officer  who  plays 
favorites,  who  is  careless  at  drill,  who  shows 
up  looking  a  bit  sloppy,  who  goes  around  the 
whole  time  wdth  an  expressionless  face,  who  is 
lever  known  to  smile.  Thev  like  the  officer 
who  talks  to  them  in  the  language  that  they  all 
understand.  They  detest  the  officer  who  is 
sarcastic  at  their  expense,  or  who  makes  a  fool 
out  of  a  man.  That  is  one  unforgivable  thing 
to  make  a  fool  out  of  a  man  before  his  com- 
rades— no  matter  how  dumb  he  may  be.  The 
average  soldier  would  rather  get  a  smash  in 
the  face  than  to  be  made  fun  of  in  the  presence 
of  his  "bunkies." 

The  soldiers  don't  like  an  officer  who  seems 
to  shirk  his  work.  They  don't  like  an  officer 
w^ho  gives  commands  in  a  low  tone.  It  con- 
fuses them.  They  have  difficulty  in  under- 
standing what  he  wants.  They  don't  like  an 
officer  who  has  a  casual  air,  who  gives  his  com- 
mands in  a  leisurely  way.  They  like  an  officer 
with  snap  and  dash,  who  gives  his  commands 
in  a  tone  loud  enough  for  them  all  to  hear. 
When  they  are  being  instructed,  they  don't 
like  to  be  kept  standing,  if  it's  a  lecture.    They 


180  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

become  inattentive.  Thev  don't  like  to  listen 
to  long-winded  explanations.  They  like  the 
officer  who  lets  them  learn  as  much  as  possible 
by  using  their  eyes  instead  of  their  ears,  who 
will  demonstrate  to  them  a  piece  of  mechanism 
on  a  field  gun;  for  example,  who  will  show 
them  how  it  is  operated  and  then  instantly  sit 
them  down  and  make  them  operate  it.  They 
like  to  get  their  hands  on  mechanism,  like  the 
breech  block,  or  quadrant  of  a  field  gun.  TJiey 
like  to  get  the  feel  of  the  thing.  They  hate 
having  to  be  told  all  about  it  and  to  be  ex- 
pected to  remember  what  they  have  been  told. 
They  much  prefer  a  short,  concise  explanation 
and  then  having  the  thing  turned  over  to  them 
at  once. 

They  like  the  officer  who  deals  in  the  practi- 
cal not  in  the  theoretical.  With  the  one  they 
are  attentive,  with  the  other  inattentive.  Fur- 
thermore, they  want  to  be  told  things  in  a  lan- 
guage they  can  all  understand.  Now  quite  a 
scientific  thing  is  the  principle  of  "enfilade" 
fire.  I  heard  a  Lieutenant,  who  understood 
enfilade  fire  thoroughly,  talk  to  the  men  about 
it  for  half  an  hour.  He  had  been  extremely 
scientific,  painstakingly  accurate  in  his  ex- 
planation, yet  it  was  filled  with  weighty  words. 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  181 

it  was  heavy.  A  Captain  questioned  the  men 
at  the  end  of  that  period  about  enfilade  fire, 
and  they  hadn't  gotten  it.  The  Captain  then 
told  them  a  story.  He  said:  "There  was  an 
old  Irishman  who  noticed  twelve  partridges 
coming  every  day  to  his  farm?  He  had  a  rifle 
and  only  one  cartridge.  He  was  at  his  wits' 
end  how  to  get  tJie  twelve  partridges  with  only 
one  cartridge.  He  thought  it  out.  One  day 
he  took  out  his  gun  and  hid  it  behind  the  hay- 
stack. Then  he  got  a  bag  of  corn  and  he  put 
the  corn  on  the  ground  in  a  straight  line  lead- 
ing to  the  haystack.  He  loaded  his  rifle  with 
the  one  cartridge,  hid  beliind  the  haystack  and 
w^aited. 

Pretty  soon  the  partridges  came,  found 
the  corn,  and  all  lined  up  in  a  single  line 
eating  it.  He  had  placed  the  corn  so  that  they 
would  be  strung  right  out  in  a  straight  line. 
You've  got  that  now?  They  are  all  in  one 
straight  line  eating  this  corn,  and  the  Irishman 
hiding  behind  the  haystack,  and  he's  got  one 
bullet. 

"So  he  sticks  his  head  around  the  corner 
and  aims  at  the  end  bird.  The  other  birds  are 
right  in  line  with  the  bird  he  aims  at.  He 
fires,   cracks   the   first   bird,   the   bullet   goes 


182  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

through  him,  hits  the  next,  and  so  on.  Well, 
he  didn't  get  all  twelve,  but  he  got  ten.  Men, 
that  is  enfilade  fire.    Do  you  get  it?" 

Everybody  got.it. 

"Now,"  the  Captain  went  on,  "when  you 
want  to  get  a  body  of  the  enemy  under  en- 
filade fire,  you  do  just  that.  You  get  your 
gun  in  a  position  where  you  can  shoot  at  them 
from  the  side,  and  you  do  it  because  you  can 
cover  just  so  many  more  of  them  than  if  you 
were  shooting  from  the  front.  Now  think  of 
the  twelve  partridges,  when  I  tell  you  this. 
When  your  shrapnel  shell  bursts,  it  throws  two 
hundred  and  fifty  bullets  down  on  the  ground. 
Those  bullets  take  the  form  of  a  shower  which 
is  two  hundred  yards  long,  twenty  yards 
wide.  Now,  if  you're  firing  at  your  enemy's 
infantry,  and  he  is  coming  up  in  one  line, 
you're  only  covering  twenty  yards  of  that  line 
if  you  shoot  on  him  directly  from  the  front. 
But  get  your  guns  on  the  side  of  him  and 
you're  covering  two  hundred  yards  of  his  line 
— like  the  Irishman  and  the  partridges.  Got 
it?" 

They  all  had  it.  Now  soldiers  like  that  kind 
of  instruction.  They  do  not  like  the  memo- 
rized words  of  a  military  textbook  thrown  at 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  183 

them.  They  like  the  thing  demonstrated  with 
an  anecdote,  if  necessary,  so  that  even  the  most 
stupid  among  them  can  understand  it. 

We've  got  to  know  the.  kind  of  songs  they 
like.  We  raised  money  to  buy  a  talking  ma- 
chine for  them  and  records.  We  ordered 
twenty  records  to  start  with.  One  day  when 
we  looked  at  the  table  where  the  machine  was 
kept  in  their  bunk  room  we  found  three  rec- 
ords were  in  a  pile  covered  with  dust.  Obvi- 
ously they  had  not  been  used.  They  were  a 
violin  solo  by  a  great  violinist,  "Annie  Laurie" 
and  "Send  Me  Away  with  a  Smile."  Im- 
mensely popular  were  "Good-bye,  Broadway; 
Hello,  France,"  "Over  There,"^  all  of  Sousa's 
marches,  and  all  kinds  of  ragtime.  But  they 
did  not  like  the  classical  music,  weepy  things, 
and  sentimental  songs.  One  forgets  there  is 
another  record,  but  it  was  broken.  We  always 
suspected  them  of  that.  It  was  a  monologue 
by  some  vaudeville  comedian. 

They  like  books — books  about  the  war — you 
w^ouldn't  think  that?  They  devour  them. 
Empey's  "Over  the  Top"  is  an  enormous  fa- 
vorite. They  like  good  stirring  tales  of  ad- 
venture; a  few  went  in  for  the  sexy  magazine 
story,  all  of  which  kinds  of  magazines  we  have 


184  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

since  weeded  out  and  refused  admittance  to 
the  barracks — for  obvious  reasons.  They  Hke 
writers  of  the  Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  Rich- 
ard Harding  Davis  type.  The  soldier  libraries 
report  a  big  demand  for  those  authors. 

Now  army  food  gets  the  soldier  in  the  habit 
for  good  wholesome  food.  He  loses  his  taste 
for  the  frills  of  eating.  He  wants  good  food, 
well  cooked,  and  lots  of  it.  He  gets  that. 
From  military  authorities  a  request  has  been 
put  out  to  the  population  in  general  not  to 
send  food  to  the  soldiers.  It  is  not  needed  in 
the  camps.  Invariably  there  come  hard-boiled 
eggs  which  go  off,  due  to  the  long  time  they 
had  been  in  transit  by  the  parcels  post  and  due 
to  the  changeable  heat  conditions  they  en- 
counter. Likewise,  cake  goes  stale  and  is  more 
or  less  unpalatable,  by  the  time  it  reaches  the 
soldier.  What  the  soldier  likes  is  plenty  of 
sweets.  They  never  begin  .to  get  enough 
candy.  Now  only  a  small  percentage  of  the 
men  in  the  National  Army  were  in  the  habit 
in  civilian  life  of  consistently  drinking.  They 
do  not  get  their  nip  now.  Doctors  will  tell 
you  that  when  a  man  gives  up  drinking  he 
craves  sweets.  So,  in  the  National  Army  you 
find  some  few  former  booze-hoisters  getting 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  185 

their  hands  on  all  the  candy  within  reach,  and 
you've  got  the  other  men  wanting  candy  to 
put  an  edge  on  the  day-in,  day-out  solid  sub- 
stantiality of  their  food. 

So  if  you  want  to  send  a  soldier  something, 
send  him  candy,  or  send  him  sweet  crackers  in 
boxes.  Don't  send  him  loose  cake,  which  only 
gets  stale,  or  crushed  or  becomes  very  crumby 
around  his  bunk.  Don't  send  him  fruit,  which 
only  decays  easily  in  transit  and  gets  him  a 
call-down  at  "Saturday  inspection"  if  he  is 
caught  with  it  around  quarters.  Fruit  that 
has  been  exposed  and  which  is  just  about 
ready  to  go  off  invariably  breeds  flies.  For  an 
officer  to  see  flies  in  the  barracks  is  like  waving 
a  red  flag  in  front  of  a  Mexican  bull.  Sweets 
that  will  keep,  and  tobacco — that  soldier  loves 
them. 

He  hasn't  any  need  for  fine  handkerchiefs, 
or  silk  socks,  or  colored  linen  shirts.  The  Gov- 
ernment gives  him  socks,  but  one  can  never 
have  too  many  pairs.  Send  him  woollen  hel- 
mets, wristlets,  scarfs.  He  gets  sleeveless 
sweaters  through  the  Red  Cross  and  through 
various  organizations  from  his  home  town. 
He  likes  to  receive  practical  things — tooth 
powder,  shaving  soap,  safety  razor  blades.  He 


186  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

is  required  to  keep  well  shaven,  and  officers 
insist  that  the  men  brush  their  teeth  frequent- 
ly for  reasons  of  health.  All  these  things  have 
to  come  out  of  his  own  pocket. 

The  little  khaki  writing  kits  and  toilet  kits 
are  most  useful.  A  man  wdth  a  fountain  pen 
is  always  lucky.  It's  hard  to  keep  an  ink  bot- 
tle around  your  bunk.  Sooner  or  later  it's 
bound  to  be  knocked  over,  and  a  good  bath- 
robe is  going  to  be  smeared.  Woollen 
pajamas  are  highly  desirable.  The  little 
trench  mirrors,  unbreakable,  are  quite  popular 
with  the  men.  A  pair  of  sheepskin-lined 
slippers,  that  he  can  wear  going  out  to  the 
showers  and  around  quarters  at  night.  Not 
forgetting  his  home  town  newspaper.  He  al- 
ways likes  that.  Unless  he  happens  to  be 
from  a  big  city,  right  near  a  camp,  he  cannot 
get  it  unless  you  send  it  to  him. 

Our  men  in  the  cantonment  are  ready  to  go 
to  France.  The  overwhelming  majority  of 
them  are  eager  to  start.  They  don't  mind  the 
hard  work.  They've  adjusted  their  moods  to 
it,  and  are  playing  the  game.  The  one  big 
thing  that  everybody  fights  so  hard  to  over- 
come is  that  touch  of  homesickness.  The  little, 
letter  full  of  news  from  home,  not  complaints ; 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  187 

the  little  box  once  in  a  while,  not  costly,  just 
a  few  crackers  or  smokes — they  are  big  things. 
The  man  who  receives  a  box  from  home  is  at 
once  an  object  of  envy  on  the  part  of  all  his 
"bunkies."  To  see  the  way  they  nurse  those 
gifts  w^ould  give  you  a  thousand  pleasures  if 
you  had  sent  one.*    Try  it. 


CHAPTER    IX 


"the  west  point  of  our  civilian  army" 


The  lives  of  the  men  in  the  vast  National 
Army  called  to  the  colors  are  in  the  hands  of 
a  new  type  of  officer.  Likewise  their  health, 
morals,  spiritual  forces  and  fighting  efficiency. 
Obviously  an  enormous  responsibility,  both  to 
the  men  whom  they  command  and  to  our  coun- 
try who  commands  them.  Hurling,  as  we  are, 
regiment  upon  regiment  into  the  battle  front 
of  our  Allies,  the  responsibility  of  each  of 
these  officers  who  has  come  out  of  the  Reserve 
Officers'  Training  Camps  becomes  stupendous. 
Upon  their  fitness  for  war  the  decision  rests. 
Are  the  conquering  dreams  of  Germany's  in- 
sane "military  party"  to  become  realized,  or 
is  the  world  to  be  made  safe  for  democracy? 
With  France  bled  horribly,  with  the  man  pow- 
er of  Great  Britain  heavily  drafted,  with  Rus- 
sia out  of  the  war,  it  is  the  bare  truth  that  our 
cause  depends  upon  the  new  National  Army. 

188 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  189 

What  of  the  men  who  will  officer  it?  For  an 
army  cannot  rise  above  its  officers.  Are  these 
new  officers  fitted  for  their  tasks? 

Earlier  in  the  war  I  was  a  correspondent  in 
the  field  with  the  armies  of  the  enemy.  I  en- 
deavored to  make  the  best  of  this  opportunity 
to  learn  where  Germany  was  weak.  It  was 
impressed  upon  me,  the  "efficiency"  and  "iron 
discipline"  of  the  Kaiser's  legions,  and  in  con- 
sidering our  new  officer  corps,  I  bear  that  in 
mind.  *One  is  measuring  the  men  who  in  Au- 
gust of  1917  w^ere  commissioned  in  the  Reserve 
Officers'  Training  Camps,  w^ith  the  efficiency 
of  the  enemy,  of  the  ruthless  Teutonic  war 
machine.  And  the  comparison  does  not  dis- 
courage— the  contrary. 

Let  us  first  gather  some  conception  of  the 
enormitj^  of  the  proposition,  this  raising  and 
training  an  army  vast  enough  to  overturn  the 
scales  in  Europe,  crushing  the  Kaiser  and  his 

legions.  Brigadier  General  Upton  in  his 
ruthlessly  true  book,  "The  Military  Policy  of 
the  United  States,"  says  that  to  send  troops 
into  battle  led  by  inefficient  officers  is  little 
short  of  murder.  In  Europe,  I  have  seen  such 
officers  lead  their  men  into  cul  de  sacs  and 
slaughter  pens,  and  I  know  General  Upton's 


190  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

words  to  be  truth.  I  have  seen  them  drama- 
tized in  blood  in  Russia  and  in  France. 

Now  when  we  awoke  and  warred  with  Ger- 
many, we  were  short  of  officers  for  our  Regu- 
lar Army,  let  alone  having  enough  for  the  vol- 
unteers who  brought  it  up  to  war  strength. 
And  where  were  the  officers  coming  from  to 
train  and  subsequently  lead  into  battle  the 
huge  new  National  Army,  the  levy  of  which 
would  begin  on  September  1,  1917,  from  a 
drafting  list  of  ten  million  Americans  between 
the  ages  of  twenty-one  and  thirty?  Just  how 
many  officers  our  Regular  Army  was  short 
and  how  many  retired  officers  were  available 
to  fill  the  gaps  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  state ;  but 
a  shortage  there  was.  By  rushing  graduation 
classes.  West  Point  could  give  but  a  compara- 
tive handful,  and  its  men  were  badly  needed 
in  the  Regular  Army.  Where,  then,  to  get 
ten  thousand  "line"  officers  for  half  a  million 
drafted  men? 

It  was  solved  by  the  establishment  of  a 
West  Point  for  our  civilian  army.  It  was  the 
*'Plattsburg  idea."  In  1915  patriotic  civilian 
and  far-sighted  military  men,  realizing  our  ap- 
palling shortage  of  officers,  should  war  ever 
come,  obtained  permission  from  the  War  De- 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  191 

partment  to  use  Plattsburg  Barracks  as  a  sum- 
mer training  camp  site.  Attendance  was  vol- 
untary. A  "camp"  lasted  one  month.  There 
were  June,  July  and  August  camps.  A  man 
paid  his  railroad  fares,  his  board,  and  bought 
his  uniform.  The  government  furnished  use 
of  quarters,  rifles,  ammunition  and  instructors. 
This  voluntary  camp  was  again  opened  in 
1916.  It  was  given  a  new  stimulus  by  Con- 
gress creating  the  Officers'  Reserve  Corps,  in 
which  one  could  be  commissioned  by  passing  a 
prescribed  examination.  Many  men  in  1916 
who  attended  the  Plattsburg  camp  took  the 
O.  R.  C.  examination.  April  of  1917  brought 
war.  We  needed  a  huge  army,  but  first  offi- 
cers for  that  army.  So  the  "Plattsburg  Idea" 
was  enlarged  into  the  "West  Point  of  Our 
Civilian  Army." 

This  found  us,  a  month  after  war  was  de- 
clared, with  Reserve  Officers'  Training  Camps 
located  throughout  our  country.  The  camps 
were  at  Plattsburg  Barracks,  JNIadison  Bar- 
racks, Fort  Niagara,  Fort  Myer,  Fort  Ogle- 
thorpe, Fort  McPherson,  Fort  Benjamin 
Harrison,  Fort  Sheridan,  Fort  Logan  H. 
Roots,  Fort  Snelling,  Fort  Riley,  Leon 
Springs  and  the  Presidio  of  San  Francisco. 


192  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

And  when  in  mid- August  they  closed,  other 
camps  opened,  graduated  their  classes,  re- 
opened, and  so  on — as  our  army  grew  and 
grew.  Collectively,  that  is  the  "West  Point" 
for  the  new  army. 

The  work  at  these  camps  was  early  stand- 
ardized. In  a  letter  from  Adjutant  General 
McCain  to  the  Department  Commanders  of 
the  United  States,  he  said:  "The  course  of  in- 
struction will  be  based  on  the  course  now  pro- 
vided for  provisional  Second  Leutenants  (ci- 
vilian candidates  for  Regular  Army  Cormnis- 
sions)  at  Fort  Leavenworth,  and  the  courses 
prescribed  for  newly  appointed  British  and 
Canadian  officers.  The  first  month  in  camp 
will  be  devoted  to  basic  Infantry  instruction 
and  instruction  in  those  duties  of  officers  that 
are  common  to  all  arms.  At  the  end  of  the 
month  those  in  attendance  will  be  classified  on 
the  basis  of  past  experience,  aptitude,  etc.,  and 
prorated  among  the  arms  ( Infantry,  Cavalry, 
Field  Artillery,  Coast  Ai'tillery,  Engineers). 
The  course  for  the  last  two  months  will  be 
formulated  accordingly." 

Thus  the  prospective  officer  at  Plattsburg, 
on  the  shore  of  Lake  Champlain,  New  York, 
received  the  same  instruction  as  the  young  Cal- 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  193 

ifornian  out  in  San  Francisco's  Presidio,  or 
the  Georgian  at  Fort  Oglethorpe.  Likewise, 
the  type  of  men  in  these  camps  was  standard- 
ized. Before  being  accepted  as  officer  candi- 
dates, they  had  to  pass  rigid  physical  exam- 
inations and  were  looked  over  as  to  mentality, 
bearing  and  general  adaptability.  Thus  in 
WTiting  of  what  went  on  in  the  Madison  Bar- 
racks Camp  on  Lake  Ontario,  one  writes  of 
what  transpired  at  Fort  Sheridan,  near  Chi- 
cago, or  in  any  of  the  other  twelve  camps 
w^here  men  for  the  Officers'  Reserve  Corps 
were  being  made. 

War  brings  two  classes  of  men  first  to  the 
front.  One  is  the  group  that  pauses,  weighs 
the  situation,  realizes  that  all  they  have  in  life 
is  due  to  the  government  under  which  they 
live,  and  forthwith  offer  their  services  to  it  in 
its  hour  of  need.  The  other  is  the  group — 
likewise  with  its  patriotic  foundations — which 
looks  upon  war  somewhat  in  the  light  of  a  lark, 
likes  to  wear  a  uniform,  loves  a  fight,  seeks  ad- 
venture. The  members  of  this  latter  group 
are  the  very  young  or  the  very  rich,  bored  with 
a  sterile  life  of  country  clubs  and  dances. 
From  both  groups  good  officers  and  inspiring 
leaders  are  drawn.     A  few  others  come  for- 


194.  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

ward,  equally  patriotic,  who  have  always  been 
seriously  interested  in  the  army  as  a  profes- 
sion but  never  have  been  able  to  embrace  it. 
Others  believe  conscription  will  eventually 
come,  and  preferring  to  go  as  officers,  step  for- 
ward; while  a  scant  few  come  sordidly,  being 
out  of  jobs  and  the  "keep"  for  three  months 
and  pay  appealing  to  them. 

Before  going  to  Madison  Barracks,  I  had 
this  preconceived  idea  of  what  induced  nearly 
two  hundred  thousand  Americans  to  apply  for 
admission  into  these  training  camps,  to  which, 
by  the  way,  but  forty  thousand  were  admitted, 
and  of  'whom  hut  one  in  four  won  line  com- 
missions. I  found  upon  talking  with  the  men 
in  my  own  and  in  other  companies  that  this 
idea  was  correct.  As  one  man  who  knew  ab- 
solutely nothing  of  military  things  put  it  to 
me,  "I  realized  we  were  in  a  serious  business. 
I  felt  I  ought  to  do  my  part — so  I  came  up 
here."  There  was  another  man  in  the  forties, 
well  over  the  drafting  age.  I  knew  he  was 
married.  I  had  met  his  wife.  "When  the 
Spanish- American  War  came,"  he  told  me, 
"I  volunteered.  When  this  war  came,  I,  of 
course,  offered  my  services  for  what  they  were 
worth,"  and  he  added  with  a  bit  of  admirable 


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OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  195 

pride:  "My  family  has  always  done  its  bit." 
So  did  the  officer  candidates  come  to  the 
camps.  These  camps  were  in  charge  of  picked 
men  of  our  small  but  amazingly  efficient  Reg- 
ular Army.  To  these  camps  were  detailed 
picked  officers  as  instructors.  They  were  men 
who  were  specialists  in  their  branches  of  the 
service;  thev  were  men  who  had  instructed  at 
West  Point,  whose  names  mean  something  in 
military  circles;  shrewd  judges,  too,  of  men — 
good  psychologists. 

At  their  disposal  were  all  the  lessons  of  the 
European  War — data  gathered  from  all  the 
battle  fronts  by  that  body  which  never  sleeps^ 
the  War  College  of  our  General  Staff.  What 
the  French  and  English  had  learned  by  bitter 
experience  their  commissions  gave  gladly  to 
our  military  men  in  Washington.  What  the 
Germans  and  Austrians  had  likewise  learned 
to  their  cost  also  was  in  the  archives  of  our 
War  College.  Our  military  men  detailed  to 
the  Central  Powers  before  we  entered  the  war 
had  been  on  the  job.  So  we  have  the  unique 
situation  of  our  country  having  a  war  forced 
upon  it,  but  at  its  disposal  all  the  up-to-the- 
minute  truths  of  war  learned  bv  fri^^htful  loss 
of  life   on  Europe's   battlefields.     And   this 


196  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

knowledge  has  been  imparted  to  the  men  who 
are  now  officering  the  National  Army. 

That  insignia,  U.  S.  R.,  on  the  collars  of 
men  in  khaki  stands  for  something.  It  means 
United  States  Reserve  and  that  the  wearer  is 
an  officer  commissioned  by  the  President.  But 
it  means  something  more  than  that.  It  means 
that  he  is  an  efficient  officer.  It  means  that 
he  has  a  commission  because  he  has  proved 
himself  worthy  of  it.  If  there  is  an  idea  still 
lingering  that  to  get  a  commission  all  a  man 
had  to  do  was  to  enroll  in  one  of  these  camps 
in  May  and  then  use  a  little  political  pull,  let 
it  go  by  the  boards.    One  knows  better. 

I  took  the  course  at  one  of  those  training 
camps.  I  saw  week  after  week,  month  after 
month,  men  dropped  for  inefficiency.  I  saw 
our  own  battery  start  with  one  hundred  and 
seventy-four  men,  and  at  the  end  only  fifty- 
four  of  them  had  won  U.  S.  R.  artillery  com- 
missions. I  know  of  a  man  who  boasted  of 
political  pull  who  was  dropped  for  failing  and 
who  tried  "pull"  to  get  reinstated,  and  that  the 
"pull"  got  him — nothing.  One  recalls  that  on 
the  bulletin  boards  of  all  the  camps  were 
posted  copies  of  a  telegram  from  Washington. 
It  gave  notice  that  any  one  attempting  to  use 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  197 

"pull"  would  come  to  grief;  and  those  who  did 
trj'-  found  the  promise  kept.  So  let  us  clear 
away  an  idea — if  it  exists — that  these  new  of- 
ficers of  the  National  Army  hold  commissions 
for  any  reason  save  that  of  efficiency. 

As  to  that  efficiency;  first,  physically.  The 
fat  man,  the  underweight  man,  they  are  not 
desired.  Under  the  terrific  stress  of  war  they 
become  charges.  They  burden  the  hospital 
department.  Often  unable  to  be  on  hand  when 
needed,  they  necessitate  a  shifting  around  of 
officers,  causing  a  shortage  at  the  front.  They 
breed  lack  of  discipline.  So,  not  content  with 
the  first  physical  examination  that  all  candi- 
dates had  to  pass  before  being  enrolled  in  the 
training  camps,  the  army  medical  authorities, 
midway  through  the  course,  ordered  another 
test.  Every  candidate  was  examined  a  second 
time.  Defects  brought  out  by  a  month  and  a 
half  of  gruelling  physical  and  mental  work 
were  revealed,  and  no  matter  how  good  the 
man's  record,  out  he  w^ent  if  he  could  not  pass 
the  physical  test. 

I  have  in  mind  an  American,  honorably  dis- 
charged as  a  Captain  from  the  Canadian  army, 
a  veteran  of  West  Front  campaigning.  The 
medical  test  showed  him  not  up  to  the  mark. 


198  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

and  he  was  at  once  dropped.  A  week  later  he 
visited  camp  in  his  Canadian  uniform.  He 
had  been  recommissioned  in  Toronto,  but 
Uncle  Sam  did  not  want  him.  Not  that  per- 
sonally and  as  far  as  his  ability  went  he  was 
not  desirable  in  every  way,  but  physically  he 
was  off.  I  record  that  to  show  how  strict  our 
War  Department  has  made  the  qualifications 
for  these  new  officers.  I  could  tell  of  other 
men,  fine  specimens  save  for  some  one  defect, 
men  who  pleaded  with  the  medical  officers  to 
pass  them.    But  the  rule  was  immutable. 

Consider  now  the  character  test  to  which 
these  new  officers  were  put:  Most  of  them 
were  accustomed  to  easy  lives.  They  were 
men  out  of  business  life,  their  only  exercise  the 
golf  club  of  the  week-end ;  also  there  were  the 
younger  men  from  the  easy  life  of  college, 
with  habits  of  luxury,  many  of  them.  For 
three  months  they  were  compelled  to  rise  at 
5:40  in  the  morning,  work  steadily,  physically 
and  mentally,  with  but  a  brief  hour  out  at 
meal  time,  until  9 :30  at  night.  They  were  al- 
lowed Saturday  afternoons  and  Sundays  to 
themselves — if  they  were  foolish  enough  to 
take  it.  For  to  accomplish  the  work  a  man 
had  to  spend  all  his  off  time  studying.     Do 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  199 

you  feel  you  could  stick  to  that  routine  day 
after  day  for  three  months  without  "going 
stale,"  without  coming  to  detest  it?  Those 
who  could  stick  are  the  men  who  are  officers 
of  the  National  Army  to-day. 

Also,  when  the  camps  opened,  orders  were 
posted  prohibiting  drinking  and  gambling.  I 
know  of  commissions  that  were  lost  because 
men  did  not  place  the  desire  to  obey  those  or- 
ders above  the  desire  to  please  themselves. 
Little  things,  so  called,  weeded  out  others.  A 
man  offered  an  office  clerk  five  dollars  if  he 
would  learn  whether  the  Captain  had  recom- 
mended him  for  a  commission.  He  was  dis- 
charged from  camp.  A  man  wTnt  on  one  of 
those  week-end  trips  with  a  girl,  and  he  drew 
a  discharge.  Not  because  of  the  trip,  one  im- 
agines, but  because  he  was  heard  to  boast 
about  it.  Another  man's  conversation  devel- 
oped German  sympathy;  the  gate  opened  for 
him.  All  that  shows  pretty  careful  combing, 
and  all  the  men  in  the  camps  were  combed  be- 
fore they  received  their  commissions. 

J  shall  never  forget  one  night  in  the  bar- 
racks just  before  taps.  In  our  company  was  a 
group  of  college  boys,  always  singing,  quite 
often   rough-housing,    brimming   with   young 


200  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

animal  spirits.  I  had  wondered  if  they  com- 
prehended the  seriousness  of  it  all,  what  it 
meant,  their  being  here  training  as  officers.  I 
began  to  tell  them  of  the  front,  of  the  No 
Man's  Land  I  had  seen  between  the  trenches; 
the  fragments  of  things  that  used  to  be  men 
dangling  from  the  barbed  wires,  tossed  there 
by  the  bursts  of  shells;  of  the  thousands  of 
men  I  had  seen  living  like  moles  in  the  ground, 
in  dugouts  of  muddy  trenches;  of  the  dead  I 
had  seen  on  a  snowy  Russian  plain,  their  arms 
frozen  in  stiff  gestures,  like  jumping- jacks. 
The  college  boys  became  serious.  Then  one 
of  them  gave  a  quick,  nervous  laugh  and  ex- 
claimed: "You  know  what  they  say:  'See 
Paris,  and  die!'  "  The  others  joined  in  the 
laugh.  Then  some  one  cried:  "On  to  Paris! 
On  to  Berlin!"  .  .  .  Yes,  they  were  the  stuff. 
And  behind  them,  as  in  a  shadow,  one  savv^ 
thousands  of  the  same  kind  of  young  French- 
men and  3^oung  Englishmen,  leaping  over  the 
tops  of  trenches  and  leading  their  men  to  the 
charge.  Yes,  he's  quite  valuable  and  quite 
wonderful  in  war,  this  young  Lieutenant  type. 
Into  it  he  puts  the  same  spirit  that  enables  him 
to  inspire  his  varsity  eleven  to  hold  on  the 
three-yard    line — like    the    young    Canadians 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  201 

held  at  Ypres,  like  the  French  held  at  Verdun 
and  the  Marne! 

Now  at  the  training  camp  it  was  a  survival 
of  the  fittest.  The  end  of  the  first  month  saw 
men  dropped  from  every  camp;  the  number 
totalled  several  thousand.  By  then  any  man 
who  had  come  for  sordid  reasons^ — the  board 
and  money — was  weeded  out.  Likewise,  any 
who  came,  detesting  military  life  but  liable  to 
service,  wishing  to  go  as  officers ;  likewise  those 
who  were  quite  young  and  did  not  take  it  seri- 
ously enough.  Ukeleles  and  military  text- 
books do  not  blend,  and  those  who  preferred 
wailing  about  the  beach  at  Wee-Hai-Wee, 
when  there  were  problems  in  the  science  of 
"combat  patrols"  to  be  worked  out,  why,  they 
of  course  were  given  transportation  back 
home. 

Day  by  day  every  man  in  that  first  month 
was  checked  up.  It  was  noted  if  his  shoes 
were  shined  at  reveille  and  retreat;  if  he  pre- 
sented a  "neat,  soldiery  appearance."  It  was 
noted  how  he  executed  commands  in  ranks  at 
drill,  how  he  gave  commands  if  called  out  to 
take  charge  of  the  company;  if  he  talked  in 
ranks,  if  he  could  stand  long  at  attention  with- 
out moving  his  head;  if  he  yielded  readily  to 


202  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

'discipline;  how  he  answered  at  recitations. 
And,  above  all,  if  he  had  the  idea  of  what  he 
was  talking  about,  not  merely  the  memorized 
thoughts  of  a  book  page. 

In  brief,  his  "adaptability"  was  day  by  day 
checked  up.  And  those  who  did  not  take  the 
course  seriously,  and  who  had  no  conception  of 
the  money  that  it  was  costing  the  government 
to  give  them  this  schooling,  and  who  never 
thought  that  they  were  in  duty  bound  to  put 
forward  their  best  efforts,  they  were  the  unfit. 
One  does  not  mean  to  imply  that  all  those  who 
failed  to  qualify  for  commissions  were  dis- 
missed because  they  trifled  with  a  serious  prop- 
osition. Rather,  they  were  men  whose  intent 
was  right  but  who  were  hopeless  physically  or 
whose  minds — and  they  were  not  stupid — 
could  not  be  made  to  think  in  a  military  way. 

One  was  surprised  at  first  to  discover  that 
the  men  at  camp  were  being  handled  quite 
easily.  Then  one  concluded  that  it  was  not 
the  purpose  of  these  camps  to  turn  out  troops 
capable  of  drilling  like  machines.  The  men 
were  having  things  more  or  less  put  up  to 
them.  In  other  words,  they  were  being  given 
rope  with  which  to  hang  themselves.  The  su- 
preme attitude  presumed  that  they  were  in- 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  203 

telligent  and  mature  and  knew  enough  to  act 
properly.    If  they  failed  to — well,  they  failed. 

As  to  their  fitness  to  command — for  a  man 
could  be  perfect  in  studies  and  still  not  be  fit 
to  command.  Discipline  and  the  habits  of  life 
of  a  civilian — ^are  they  compatible?  Most  of 
the  men  who  went  to  the  camps  were  not  used 
to  military  discipline.  They  got  it.  They  ac- 
quiesced to  it.  They  were  willing  to  be  taught 
how  to  obey.  By  being  subjected  to  hard  dis- 
cipline themselves  they  were  made  fit  to  ad- 
minister it.  Picture  a  man  in  the  thirties,  who 
has  made  his  way  in  the  business  world,  be- 
ing told  by  a  Lieutenant  ten  years  his  junior 
that  he  must  sew  his  hat  cord  and  not  leave  it 
free  to  slip  around.  Imagine  the  older  man, 
accustomed  in  a  business  office  to  ordering  sub- 
ordinates around,  obeying  the  Lieutenant  with- 
out hesitation.  That  happened  a  score  of 
times.  If  the  man  could  not  obey  he  was  not 
fit  to  command.  In  the  field  he  would  be  apt 
to  "know  more"  than  his  superiors. 

Then  the  ability  to  think  quickly,  to  issue 
orders,  to  exact  swift  obedience,  to  forget  self- 
consciousness  and  to  instruct  men  in  a  way 
that  would  hold  their  attention — those  points 
w^ere  sought  for  in  the  camps,  and  in  the  men 


204.  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

who  were  commissioned  they  were  found.  Day 
after  day  a  different  man  would  be  called  from 
the  ranks.  The  instructor  would  order  him  to 
act  as  Captain.  Then  and  there  that  man  had 
to  make  good  on  the  "ability  to  command.'* 
He  had  to  keep  thinking  quickly  to  give  the  or- 
ders necessary  to  evolute  the  company  into  the 
formations  that  the  instructor  would  demand. 
He  had  to  issue  his  orders  snappily,  clearly 
and  loudly.  For  it  is  a  psychological  truth 
that  just  as  your  delivery  is  in  issuing  or- 
ders, so  are  the  men  going  to  execute  them.' 
The  issuing  of  orders  in  a  leisurely  tone 
means  that  they  are  going  to  be  executed  in  a 
leisurely  manner.  And  the  National  Army 
is  being  made  into  one  of  snap  and  dash. 

The  man  who  got  out  in  front  of  the  com- 
pany and  gave  orders  weakly,  because  the  men 
were  his  bunk  mates,  failed.  I  recall  one  man 
called  out  to  lead  the  company.  Around  quar- 
ters he  was  a  most  pleasant,  witty,  and  agree-, 
able  companion.  Because  he  was  such,  some 
of  the  men  in  the  company  thought  they  could 
take  things  easy  when  he  was  called  out  to  act 
as  Captain. 

"When  we're  in  the  barracks,"  he  bawled 
at  them,  as  soon  as  a  disposition  to  loaf  was 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  205 

obvious,  "you're  Jack  and  I'm  Bill.  To-day 
I'm  Captain  and  you  fellows  are  here  to  obey 
my  orders,  and  if  you  don't  obey  them  as 
smartly  as  I  think  you  ought  to,  I'll  keep  you 
drilling  out  here  till  your  tongues  hang  out." 

Need  one  add  that,  everything  else  being  up 
to  the  mark,  he  got  his  commission? 

The  quality  of  holding  the  attention  of  men 
while  instructing  them  was  a  quality  much 
sought  after.  The  United  States  Reserve  Offi- 
cers are  now  instructing  the  National  Army. 
From  time  to  time  in  the  training  camp,  men 
w^ere  called  upon  to  conduct  classes,  and  the 
way  they  did  it,  was  carefully  noted  down  by 
the  instructor.  It  takes  a  good  psychologist  to 
hold  the  attention  of  men  for  an  hour  on  a 
purely  technical  subject.  But  it  can  be  done, 
by  enlivenment,  and  those  men  who  showed 
they  could  do  it  were  rated  high.  Consider 
what  an  asset  it  is  to  be  able  to  interest  the 
men  of  the  new  National  Army — the  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  of  men  entirely  ignorant 
.of  military  things — in  the  essentials  of  military 
science  with  which  they  have  suddenly  been 
brought  face  to  face ! 

I  know  this  of  the  artillery:  If  you  interest 
the  men  in  the  horses,  in  the  guns  and  what 


206  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

the  guns  are  capable  of,  if  you  get  them  to  like 
their  horses  and  their  equipment  and  to  take 
care  of  them  and  perfect  themselves  in  their 
use,  you  cannot  help  but  have  an  interested 
battery.  And  if  you  know  human  nature  as 
well  as  your  branch  of  the  military  science  you 
cannot  but  help  attaining  military  efficiency. 

Yes,  the  Reserve  Officers  know  their  new 
profession.  When  they  were  commissioned 
they  had  learned  enough  of  it  to  realize  what 
an  awful  lot  there  is  to  learn.  That  is  a  good 
sign.  For  the  man  who  knows  little  of  mili- 
tary science  invariably  believes  that  he  knows 
it  all.  A  good  measure  of  the  Reserve  Offi- 
cers are  in  the  Field  Artillery.  Modern 
tactics  have  made  it  necessary  that  the  Artil- 
lery Officer  have  quite  a  good  idea  of  the  way 
Infantry  and  Cavalry  fight,  as  well  as  his  own 
arm.  You  see,  the  Artillery  to-day  works  in 
close  co-operation  with  those  other  arms.  The 
guns  must  help  their  Infantry  and  Cavalry  on 
the  attack  and  defense.  Also,  the  good  Artil- 
lery Officer  must  have  an  idea  of  how  the 
enemy,  the  Germans,  use  their  troops  on  de- 
fense and  attack.  So  we  in  the  Artillery  have 
studied  those  things. 

Let  me  show  you  how  shrewdly  the  brains 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  207 

of  the  United  States  military  establishment 
worked  that  out.  The  camp  course  was  three 
months.  During  the  first  month  we  in  the  ar- 
tillery never  saw  a  field  gun.  We  were  infan- 
try. Then  we  dropped  it  and  became  artil- 
lerymen. But  we  did  not  forget  the  "dough- 
boys." Every  so  often,  while  immersed  in  the 
guns,  we  would  receive  a  lecture  on  infantry 
and  cavalry,  by  particularly  proficient  officers 
in  those  branches. 

We  were  given  books  prepared  for  the  train- 
ing camps.  The  contents  of  these  books  were 
not  assigned  as  lessons,  but  it  was  up  to  us  to 
digest  their  contents  in  our  spare  hours.  Those 
of  us  who  did,  made  ourselves  just  that  more 
efficient.  And  what  wonder  books  those  were ! 
One  saw  in  them  diagrams  of  how  the  Ger- 
man infantry  attacked  at  Verdun.  One 
thought  of  that  formation  in  terms  of  artillery 
and  figured  out  how  best  to  decimate  it  with 
the  fire  of  our  guns.  One  learned  how  the 
English  and  French  attacked.  One  had  at 
one's  disposal  the  translation  of  a  most  remark- 
able series  of  articles  written  for  a  German 
military  publication  by  a  German  artillery 
major.  They  were  lines  brimming  with  val- 
uable lessons  gained  at  bitter  cost  to  him  in  the 


208  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

field.  And  one  gloated  over  the  fact  that  there 
at  least  was  once  when  the  Kaiser's  censorship 
had  slipped  in  letting  such  valuable  stuff  get 
into  print,  where  it  could  be  seen  by  our  alert 
and  able  military  attaches  in  Europe  and  sent 
back  to  us. 

We  were  lectured  on  explosives  and  their 
use  in  the  war  to-day  by  an  English  inspector 
of  ammunition  in  America.  The  point  is  that 
we  did  not  waste  any  time  with  fluff.  We 
did  not  stud}^  military  history — which  one  does 
not  mean  to  imply  is  fluff,  but  which  is  quite 
useless  to  us  in  our  present  work.  What  we 
needed  and  what  we  got  was:  How  are  they 
doing  it  in  Europe?  How  can  we  better  their 
methods?    How,  liow,  how? 

Practical  instruction  was  the  keynote,  with 
just  enough  of  the  theory  carried  along  to  give 
us  an  understanding  of  why  we  were  doing 
things  that  way.  The  theoretical  textbooks  of 
the  American  Army  kept  pace  with  the  re- 
ports from  Europe's  firing  line,  and  our  offi- 
cers have  been  on  the  alert  to  make  improve- 
ments upon  Europe.  We  discarded  the 
method  of  bayonet  fighting  long  in  use  in  the 
United  States  Army.  We  adopted  the  Eng- 
lish system  which  they  evolved  during  the  war. 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  209 

But  in  one  of  our  training  camps  an  Infantry 
Capta.in  discovered  a  serious  defect  in  the 
English  bayonet  system,  so  now  we  have  im- 
proved on  theirs — using  what  was  good  in  it, 
rejecting  what  was  bad.  That  has  been  the 
spirit.  Utilize  every  bit  of  "dope"  that  comes 
over  from  Europe,  but  improve  upon  it  if  that 
can  be  done. 

But  it  did  not  stop  there,  this  fitting  of  ci- 
vilians to  become  officers.  The  War  Depart- 
ment was  not  content  with  getting  men  of  a 
certain  rigid  physical  standard,  of  firm  char- 
acter, possessing  executive  ability,  having  the 
knack  of  instructing^  in  an  interesting^  wav  and 
knowing  their  branch  of  military  science. 
There  was  something  else,  something  of  tre- 
mendous importance.  It  is  true  that  war  de- 
grades or  ennobles  a  man.  Whether  the  man 
in  the  ranks  is  lifted  up  or  let  slide  down,  that 
depends  to  a  large  extent  upon  his  officers.  It 
is  not  the  purpose  of  the  United  States  to  call 
out  hundreds  of  thousands  of  its  young  man- 
hood into  v/ar,  and  then,  when  peace  comes, 
to  have  a  horde  of  diseased  and  degenerate 
beings  loosened  upon  the  land.  To  prevent 
that  we  have  been  lectured  and  lectured  upon 
camp  sanitation,  the  transmission  of  disease. 


210  pUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

personal  hygiene.     But  it  did  not  stop  there. 

To  the  different  training  camps  was  sent  a 
physician  who  had  investigated  conditions  on 
the  Mexican  border  for  the  War  Department.> 
He  discussed  with  us  the  question  of  venereal 
diseases,  how  they  affected  the  fighting  effi- 
ciency of  an  army.  How  one  great  Power 
had  suffered  enormously  during  this  war  be- 
cause of  a  lack  of  proper  precautions  against 
the  insidious  germs  transmitted  by  illicit  re- 
lations. What  the  effect  of  that  was  upon  the 
man,  and  later,  when  he  married,  upon  the 
race.  We  were  told  how  to  keep  the  practice 
down. 

The  lives  of  men  are  in  your  hands;  one 
grave  mistake  on  your  part,  one  blundering 
order  at  a  crucial  moment,  and  your  men  are 
wiped  out!  To  realize  that  is  to  feel  a  deep 
responsibility.  Our  new  Reserve  Officers  feel 
it.  They  are  not  taking  things  lightly.  They 
know  that  the  foundations,  gained  in  the  Re- 
serve Officers'  Training  Camps,  were  sound — • 
the  best  that  America,  France,  and  England 
could  give  them. 


CHAPTER  X 


^*^THE   GLORY   OF  THE   GUNS"" 


Splendidly  immersed  in  his  subject,  our 
instructor,  a  dapper  little  Field  Artillery  Cap- 
tain, repeated  as  he  dabbed  at  the  blackboard : 
*'The  initial  deflection  difference  should  be  de- 
termined by  increasing  the  parallax  of  the  aim- 
ing point  algebraically  by  ten." 

And  three  batteries  speeded  up  their 
thoughts  in  a  try  to  keep  pace  with  his  wis- 
dom. We  four  hundred-odd  men,  seeking  to 
fit  ourselves  for  artillery  commissions  in  the 

Officers'  Reserve  Corps,  hung  upon  the  Cap- 
tain's   words — in   his    day   among   the    great 

in  football  at  West  Point.     Outside  of  the 

long  wooden  shack  where  we  sat  a  June  sun 

slid   short   shadows   across  the   edges   of  the 

Madison  Barracks  Parade.    A  peaceful  spot, 

this,  on  the  northern  shores  of  New  York 

State,  yet  .  .  . 

There  were  memories.    I  saw  again  the  red 

211 


212  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

lands  of  Europe.  Particularly  I  saw  the 
brief  ridges  and  the  wide  fields  of  Northern 
France,  that  hellish  place  of  earth  where  day 
and  night  the  guns  growl.  The  skyline  spotted 
with  the  fleecy  white  puffs  of  bursting  shrap- 
nel, the  ground  spewed  up  amid  the  ugly 
brown  smoke  of  the  shells.  And  the  drum- 
ming of  the  guns,  hour  after  hour,  day  after 
day.  .  .  .  "Should  be  announced,"  our  Captain 
was  saying,  "in  the  multiple  of  five."  And 
to  me  they  had  a  sharpened  significance  those 
diagrams  that  the  Captain  so  hastily  dabbed 
upon  the  blackboard,  likewise  those  words  of 
"deflection  difference"  and  "multiple"  that 
may  seem  so  cabalistic  to  you. 

It  all  meant  that  in  other  Officers  Reserve 
Corps  training  camps  scattered  throughout  our 
country,  other  batches  of  men  similar  to 
ours  were  hearing  them  also,  these  same 
words — "deflection."  It  meant  that  the  United 
States  was  hard  at  manufacturing  effi- 
cient Artillery  Officers.  It  meant  that — not 
to-morrow,  or  the  day  after,  but  inevitably 

• — God  help  the  Germans !  .  .  .  Not  God  as  we 
imderstand  Him  but  the  Kaiser's  playmate, 
the  mead-soaked  Odin  of  Valhalla,  pet  deity 
of  the  warriors  of  ancient  barbaric  Germany. 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  213 

A  Napoleonic  cynicism  is  that  the  Almighty 
is  on  the  side  with  the  heaviest  artillery.  Based 
upon  this  assumption  there  seemed  to  be  early 
in  the  war  something  in  the  Hun  slogan  ''Gott 
mit  unsJ"  For  it  was  their  preponderance  of 
heavy  guns  that  let  the  Kaiser's  legions  get  to 
the  tdgQ  of  Paris.  Likewise  it  was  the  superi- 
ority of  the  French  "Soixante  Quinze  that 
stopped  the  Germans  at  the  Marne,  depriving 
his  Imperial  Highness,  Frederick  Wilhelm,  of 
the  carouse  he  had  wet  his  lips  over.  Likewise 
it  was  the  superiority  of  the  British  guns  that 
enabled  Tommy  to  drive  back  the  Hun  at  Mes- 
sines  and  the  Somme.  Likewise  it  will  be  the 
superiority  of  our  American  gunfire  that  will 
make  the  Hun  forget  all  about  a  "place  in  the 
sun"  and  more  about  seeking  a  refuge  in  his 
own  musty  shadows  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Rhine.  And  that  will  be  to  the  glory  of  the 
guns. 

For  the  guns  are  glorious.  I  first  sensed 
their  thrill  from  an  observation  post,  like  a 
"crow's  nest"  in  a  great  pine  tree  overlooking 
the  frozen  swamps  of  the  Bohr  in  Poland.  I 
saw  what  they  did  at  Antwerp,  at  Nowo  Geor- 
giewsk,  at  Ivangorod,  at  Warsaw,  in  East 
Prussia,  in  the  Augustowo  Forest,  at  Servian, 


214  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

Nish,  at  Ypres  and  La  Easse.  The  guns  speak 
and  fortresses  fall.  Whom  the  gods  would  de- 
stroy, they  first  let  hear  the  guns.  Yes,  they 
drive  men  mad.  Their  voice  terrifies.  Their 
work  is  fascinating.  They  play  hide  and  seek 
with  the  enemy's  artillery,  striving  to  smash 
it;  they  smash  his  trenches,  his  infantry,  his 
cavalry,  his  trains,  his  motors — the  motor  even 
of  his  Kaiser.  They  are  lords  of  the  field,  the 
guns. 

Now  in  armies — it  makes  no  difference 
what  their  nationality  may  be — you  will  al- 
ways find  infantry,  cavalry  and  artillery  offi- 
cers who  think  that  their  branch  is  the  only 
branch  of  fundamental  importance.  Each  of 
these  officers  advances  arguments  to  prove  the 
preponderant  importance  of  his  arm,  and  each 
argument  can  be  shot  to  pieces.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  the  infantry  would  be  powerless  with- 
out the  artillery  in  warfare  to-day  and  the  ar- 
tillery would  be  in  hot  water  without  infantry 
to  protect  it,  and  quite  futile  without  infantry 
to  inflict  the  incisive  thrusts  that  the  gunfire 
makes  possible.  As  for  cavalry,  those  who 
say  that  its  usefulness  is  at  an  end  speak  from 
a  narrow  vision.  I  saw  what  the  German  cav- 
alry accomplished  in  the  Baltic  provinces  of 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  216 

Russia  and  what  the  Bulgar  cavahy  did  in 
Servia.  Acting  with  "horse  artillery"  (every 
man  in  the  battery  mounted,  none  were  dead 
weight,  riding  on  the  carriages,  this  making 
for  speed)  the  cavalry  executed  drives  of  great 
impact  and  speed.  And  in  1917  on  the  West 
front,  the  British,  when  the  Hun  defenses 
broke,  swept  cavalry  into  action  with  great 
success.  And  one  day  the  Hun  front  will 
collapse.  Then  watch  our  cavalry  and  light 
artillery  race  after  them! 

So,  you  see,  there  is  a  decided  interrelation 
between  the  different  branches  of  an  army  and 
one  is  dependent  upon  the  other.  So  let  us 
take  for  our  supposition  that  provided  we  in 
the  artillery  are  amply  assisted  by  infantry' 
and  aerial  scouting — as  we  will  be — it  will  be 
our  American  guns  that  will  end  the  war. 
.  .  .  A  broad  statement;  let  us  see. 

First — American  guns.  France  has  reached 
the  zenith  of  her  military  power.  England  is 
reaching  hers  in  the  spring  of  1918.  Then 
with  the  summer  of  1918  we  come  in.  Our 
Regular  Army  is  almost  in;  our  militia  is  go- 
ing in;  after  the  militia  our  great  new  Na- 
tional Army  goes  in.  We  used  to  think,  in 
camp,  how  the  new  army  would  be  officered. 


216  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

by  the  men  we  were  bunking  with — how  after 
us  would  come  other  officer  candidates  to  the 
camp — then,  more,  more.  For  our  army  will 
grow  and  grow  until  Imperial  Germany  is 
crushed — until  the  world  is  made  safe  for  you 
and  me  to  live  in,  free  from  the  yoke  of  Berlin. 
And  we  realized  it  was  up  to  us  who  were 
studying  artillery  at  Madison  Barracks,  at 
Fort  Oglethorpe,  at  Leon  Springs — where 
not? — to  get  to  know  the  guns,  every  part  of 
them,  to  get  to  know  how  to  use  them  effect- 
ively— to  love  the  guns.  A  good  Artillery 
Officer  must  love  the  guns.  Commanding  a 
battery,  he  has  four  guns — beautifully  in- 
tricate and  accurate  pieces  of  the  engineering 
art.  I  am  thinking  of  our  trim  three-inchers. 
They  are  slender  and  good  to  look  upon ;  with 
their  long  steel  barrels,  they  suggest  sleeping 
power.  They  repose  upon  carriages  painted 
olive  drab,  w^hich,  like  our  uniforms,  blend  into 
the  landscape  and  at  distances  they  are  diffi- 
cult to  discern.  They  can  hurl  shells  weighing 
thirty  pounds,  with  deadly  accuracy  up  to 
4,500  yards,  not  so  accurately  up  to  8,500 
yards.  If  you  are  standing  within  twenty 
yards  of  the  explosion  of  one  of  these  shells 
you  are  not  safe.    If  our  shell  be  shrapnel  and 


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OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  217 

it  bursts  about  thirty  feet  above  the  ground 
where  you  are — well,  consult  a  physician. 
For  theoretically  a  smgle  shrapnel  properly 
placed  should  cover  each  square  yard  of  250 
square  yards  beneath  it  with  one  soft  bullet. 

Then  think,  that  you,  the  Battery  Com- 
mander can  conceal  yourself  in  an  observation 
post,  perhaps  screened  by  bushes,  perhaps  in 
a  church  steeple,  a  considerable  distance  away 
from  your  guns.  Think  that  these  guns  can 
be  hidden  from  the  enemy,  behind  a  crest,  for 
example;  unable  to  see  their  target,  their  tar- 
get unable  to  see  them.  Think  that  you,  hid- 
ing yourself  from  the  enemy,  but  ever  watch- 
ing him,  can  by  merely  uttering  a  few  com- 
mands into  a  telephone  leading  down  to  your 
guns,  so  control  their  sheaf  of  fire  that  it  will 
dart  with  amazing  accuracy  upon  any  part  of 
the  target  that  you  may  desire  to  strew  with 
destruction.  The  thought  that  such  power, 
the  sweep  of  such  explosives  generated  by  four 
guns  can  be  so  perfectly  controlled  by  one 
man,  quite  far  from  them,  gives  to  the  real 
artillervman  a  fascination  and  thrill.  You 
know  how  a  man  who  loves  a  horse  will  pat 
its  flanks.  I  can  conceive  a  man  who  loves  the 
guns,  doing  that  to  their  cold  sides. 


218  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

In  the  training  camps  we  of  the  artillery 
were  separated  from  the  infantry.  For  a 
fortnight  we  studied  artillery  without  even  see- 
ing a  gun.  At  the  end  of  that  fortnight  our 
battery  was  marched  out  into  the  country  and 
our  instructor  rattled  off  a  tactical  situation. 
The  supposition  was  that  the  location  of  our 
barracks  was  the  location  of  the  "main  body" 
of  an  imaginary  American  column  that  was 
advancing  upon  Henderson's  Harbor,  a  sum- 
mer resort  of  N^orthern  New  York,  about  ten 
miles  away  from  our  barracks.  We  were  or- 
dered to  join  an  imaginary  "advance  party" 
of  our  column.  Accordingly  we  left  the  bar- 
racks at  an  imaginary  trot,  caught  up  with  the 
imaginary  "supports"  of  the  "advance  party," 
and  were  told  that  the  battery  was  to  go  into 
action. 

"B.  C.  station"  rattled  off  our  Captain, 
"that  second  telegraph  pole  down  the  road. 
Aiming  point — right  edge,  that  red  freight  car 
— from  left  and  at  150  mils,  a  lone  tree.  Got 
it?  Guns  are  200  yards  up  the  road  just  off 
it  to  the  right,  behind  that  swell  marked  by 
yellow  flowers.  Target — the  second  telegraph 
pole  along  the  railroad  tracks  just  ahead — iit 
line  with  that  at  800  yards,  an  unpainted  barn 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  219 

— in  line  with  that  at  3,000  yards  a  peculiar 
shaped  tree,  cut  off  vertically  on  the  right 
side.  Got  it?  .  .  .  At  the  base  of  that  tree 
trunk  begins  an  infantry  trench,  extending  40 
miles  to  the  left.  Figure  out  the  deflection 
and  the  deflection  difference." 

"Question,"  a  candidate  shouted.  "Shall 
we  use  the  School  of  Fire  Method?" 

Almost  reproachfully  our  instructor  re- 
garded him. 

"Of  course!" 

Which  brings  us  to  two  things.  The  brains 
that  conceive  this  Reserve  Officers  Artillery 
course  are  amazingly  good  brains.  Those 
commands  that  our  instructor  reeled  off  about 
"aiming  points"  and  all.  Strange  gibberish 
to  you;  strange  gibberish,  too,  they  would 
have  been  to  most  of  us  a  fortnight  before. 
But  the  big  thing  is  this — that  after  only  two 
weeks  work,  the  instructor  was  able  to  take 
us  out  in  the  country  and  throw  those  techni- 
calities at  us  and  demand  that  we  then  and 
there  compute  firing  data  that  would  turn  that 
imaginary  infantry  trench  into  an  inferno. 
]More  amazing,  most  of  us  were  able  to  do  it. 
In  other  words  the  officers  who  conceived  this 
training  camp  course  arranged  it  so  shrewdly 


220  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

and  intensively  that  those  commissioned  were 
not  dubs,  but  men  able  to  take  the  guns  over 
to  France  and  return  to  the  Germans  some  of 
their  own  hell. 

The  second  important  thing  is  the  reference 
made  to  the  School  of  Fire.  You  have  never 
heard  of  it?  It  is  something  which,  as  events 
should  turn  out,  will  not  gratify  the  Imperial 
being  of  the  Hohenzollerns.  In  1911  there 
was  established  at  Fort  Sill,  Oklahoma, 
a  sort  of  super-school  to  which  were  detailed 
Artillery  Officers  of  our  Army  for  super- 
study  in  the  science  of  fire.  An  Artillery  Offi- 
cer, former  military  aide  to  Roosevelt  when 
President,  and  now  Colonel  of  the  3 — th  Field 
Artillery  of  the  National  Army,  was  respon- 
sible for  the  founding  and  efficiency  of  that 
school.  As  an  American  attache  to  the  Ger- 
man Army,  the  Colonel  attended  the  German 
School  of  Fire  at  Juterborg  and  brought  back 
with  him,  for  our  Ai'my,  all  of  it  that  was  ef- 
ficient. Thousands  of  rounds  of  ammunition 
were  shot  off  on  the  Oklahoma  tracts.  Thou- 
sands of  records  were  tabulated.  Guns  were 
fired  under  all  sorts  of  conditions  and  at  all 
conceivable  targets.  And  the  result  of  each 
shot  was  put  doxjcn  in  black  and  white. 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  221 

Until  we  entered  the  war  no  one  in  the  Army 
save  a  few,  knew  the  results  of  all  this  firing 
at  Fort  Sill.  Those  who  did  know  were  our 
artillery  officers  whose  business  it  was  to  check 
up  the  fire  statistics,  group  them  and  on  the 
law  of  errors  reach  certain  conclusions.  The 
results  of  their  work  were  embodied  in  docu- 
ments filed  by  the  School  of  Fire.  They  com- 
prise the  most  valuable  documents  known  to 
men  in  the  Field  Artillery.  If  an  officer  under- 
stands the  "probabilities"  and  can  apply  them, 
why,  write  "finish"  for  anything  that  gets 
within  range  of  his  guns.  In  the  training 
camps  we  were  tutored  in  these  codified  truths 
of  artillery  fire,  and  those  of  us  who  studied 
them  and  won  commissions  were  all  subse- 
quently sent  from  our  regiments  to  the  School 
of  Fire,  Avhere  for  ten  weeks  in  the  winter  just 
past  we  worked  with  varied  types  of  American 
and  French  guns  and  howitzers.  So  we  are 
bound  to  make  things  rather  disagreeable  for 
the  Huns. 

So  you  see,  your  country  isn't  so  inefficient? 
after  all.  Of  brains,  our  little  Regular  Army 
had  an  abundance.  The  officers  made  in  West 
Point  are  better  than  any  in  the  world.  Yes, 
better  than  those  who  come  out  of  that  factory 


222  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

for  Prussian  Lieutenants  the  Koniglich  Preus- 
sishhe  Haupt  Kadetten  Anstalt,  at  Gross 
Lichterfelde.  And  best  of  all,  while  the  civil- 
ian masses  of  our  country  were  sleeping  the 
sleep  of  false  security,  those  officers  of  our 
Regular  Army  were  working  away,  undis- 
mayed by  public  indifference,  not  seeking  the 
public  recognition  that  would  be  theirs  in 
some  other  countries,  unostentatiously  prepar- 
ing for  the  day  of  war  which  their  studies  in 
the  historic  relations  of  nations  told  them  must 
come.  And  then  America  awoke.  And  the  long 
period  of  unthanked-for  work  of  our  Army 
Officers  showed  results.  It  showed  results  in- 
stantly with  the  forty-odd  thousand  civilians 
in  those  first  Officer's  Reserve  training  camps. 
It  is  showing  results  as  the  commissioned 
among  us  have  begun  to  train  the  new  Na- 
tional Army.  It  will  write  the  result  big  on 
the  battlefields  of  Europe. 

All  of  you  have  a  dear  one  or  know  some 
one  called  to  the  colors.  Probably  in  the  in- 
fantry, for  an  army  includes  a  vastly  greater 
number  of  infantrymen  than  men  of  the  ar- 
tillery. Consider  what  the  guns  mean  to  that 
man  in  the  infantry — ^how  they  protect  him, 
make  his   work  easier,   greatly   decrease   his 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  223 

chances  of  being  lost.  Let's  bring  it  right 
down  close.  You  are  in  the  infantry;  I,  in 
the  artillery. 

You  are  a  private  in  the  new  National 
Army.  You  are  in  a  trench,  let  us  say,  in  the 
summer  of  1918  in  front  of  Mulhausen,  which 
is  in  German  Alsace.  Orders  come  from  our 
Army  Headquarters  that  we  are  to  begin  a 
great  offensive.  The  orders  percolate  down 
through  field  army,  division  and  brigade  head- 
quarters to  regimental  headquarters.  They  go 
down  through  the  Major  of  your  Battalion  to 
your  Captain.  Through  him  to  your  Lieuten- 
ants and  Sergeants,  through  them  to  you. 

You  are  told  that  your  company  is  to  cap- 
ture a  certain  w^dth  of  the  German  trenches 
in  front  of  Mulhausen  and  that  you  will  be 
completely  supported  by  your  artillery. 
Weather  permitting,  the  infantry  attack  is  to 
start  on  a  certain  day.  The  hour  will  be  told 
you  later.  To  us  in  the  artillery  have  come 
similar  orders,  only  our  attack  starts  on  a  dif- 
ferent day.  It  starts  earlier.  It  starts  ten 
days  before  you  begin.  For  ten  days  our  bat- 
tery fires  upon  the  "sector"  your  company  is 
to  attack.  We  have  the  range  of  the  barbed 
wire   entanglements.     Meanwhile   our  heavy 


224  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

howitzers  pour  upon  the  trenches  explosive 
shells.  This  demolishes  the  trenches,  drives 
the  Huns  to  hide  in  dug-outs  often  twenty  feet 
under  ground.  They  can  escape  the  frag- 
ments of  our  shells  there,  but  they  cannot  es- 
cape their  sound. 

I  recall  a  night  two  years  ago  in  front  of 
Ypres.  In  his  headquarters  on  the  Denercke 
Farm,  Colonel  Meyers  of  the  37th  Bavarian 
Infantry  (I  was  there  as  a  correspondent) 
said  to  me:  "It  is  not  so  much  the  wounds  they 
inflict  but  the  effect  that  the  sound  of  their  ex- 
plosions has  upon  my  men,  that  makes  this 
shell  fire  bad.  Many  of  my  men  have  been 
driven  insane  by  it,  or  their  nerves  have  been 
so  badly  shattered  as  to  make  them  useless  for 
the  firing  line."    .    .    . 

So  besides  demolishing  their  first  line 
trenches  in  front  of  Mulhausen,  we  are  shak- 
ing the  German's  morale,  making  it  easier  for 

you  Infantrymen  to  dispose  of  him  when  the 
rush  comes. 

The  Huns  have  a  word  for  the  kind  of  fire 

our    big    howitzers    are    using,    they    call    it 

^'Trommelfeuei^" — drum  fire.     The  Hun  has 

come  to  hate  it.    He  used  to  like  it  when  he 

had  more  guns,  when  he  was  beating  the  drum. 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  225 

It  IS  as  if  the  earth  were  a  vast  drum  and  that 
the  shells  falling  upon  it  were  as  the  incessant 
roll  of  infinite  drumsticks.  So  do  we  beat  the 
drum.  But  that  is  not  all.  Upon  the  area  be- 
hind the  German's  first  trenches,  the  battery- 
just  in  our  rear  is  laying  another  kind  of  fire. 
The  French  have  an  exquisite  word  for  it — 
''barrage'^  fire. 

Now  barrage  is  the  French  word  for  dam. 
The  thought  is  that  behind  the  enemy  first 
trenches  is  laid  a  barrage — a  dam  of  bursting 
shells.  The  Hun  will  try  to  send  reinforce- 
ments, food,  ammunition,  stretcher-bearers  to 
his  first-line  trenches  while  the  "drum  fire"  of 
our  battery  is  upon  them.  But  the  battery 
behind  us  have  placed  a  ''barrage"  fire  behind 
the  German  front  trenches,  and  through  this 
few  men  can  come  and  live  or  be  sane.  You 
see  why  the  French  called  it  barrage — a  dam? 
JSIuch  water  comes  up  to  the  dam  but  the  dam 
holds  it  there.  Only  a  little  water  trickles  over 
it ;  only  a  few  men  trickle  through  the  barrage. 
And  so  for  days  do  we  keep  knifing  away  with 
our  shell  at  his  barbed  wire  and  the  bat- 
tery behind  us  lays  its  ''barrage''  fire,  prevent- 
ing the  Huns  from  sending  help  to  the  men 
w^hom  you  in  the  Infantry  are  to  attack. 


226  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

Up  to  the  hour  designated  for  the  start  of 
your  infantry  advance  we  pound  away.  Now 
over  the  top  of  the  trenches  you  go,  and  race 
through  No  Man's  Land  to  the  enemy.  Our 
Battery  Commander  has  placed  in  your  trench 
one  of  our  artillery  observers ;  when  you  leave 
the  trench  to  attack,  he  goes  with  you  with  his 
signal  apparatus.  Above  you  swoop  our  avia- 
tors. No  longer  do  we  strive  to  cut  wire;  we 
finished  that.  Now  we  fire  on  an  imaginary 
line  ahead  of  you.  You  walk  up  close  to  that 
line  and  stop.  We  fire,  say  for  three  minutes ; 
then  increase  our  range  100  yards,  and  again 
we  pause  to  fire  at  that  new  range,  and  again 
you  walk  to  within  the  extremity  of  the  flam- 
ing, smoking  curtain  we  spread  before  you; 
and  so  you  go — a  hundred  more,  a  hundred 
more. 

Our  next  "lift"  brings  us  to  the  German 
trench.  You  come  closer  to  our  "curtain." 
We  pound  away.  You  are  drawing  near  the 
explosions  of  our  own  projectiles.  And  then 
our  "curtain"  of  fire  which  has  kept  the  enemy 
Infantry  down  in  their  dugouts  so  they  didn't 
dare  to  come  up  and  train  their  machine  guns 
on  you,  "lifts."  It  lengthens  the  range,  play- 
ing now  upon  his  next  trench — while  you  leap 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  227 

in  through  the  lifting  smoke  and  bayonet  the 
Huns.  That  is  the  "creeping  barrage" — the 
glory  of  the  guns. 

So  as  not  to  complicate  that,  I  refrained 
from  saying  that  our  "counter  batteries"  in  the 
days  of  preparatory  fire  and  during  your  at- 
tack have  been  firing  upon  the  enemy's  artil- 
lery constantly  so  as  to  keep  down  the  volume 
of  shells  that  he  could  put  upon  you  when  you 
advance.  Perhaps  by  re-reading  and  by  di- 
gesting the  above,  you  will  have  a  clear  idea 
of  what  the  guns  mean,  why  they  are  so  tre- 
mendously important.  .    .    . 

Do  you  remember  in  the  summer  of  1916 — 
before  the  Revolution — when  the  Russians  un- 
der Brussiloff  made  such  a  tremendous  at- 
tempt on  the  Austrian  lines  in  the  Bucowina 
and  Galicia?  Brussiloff  did  not  have  enough 
artillery.  Do  you  know  how  he  tried  to  over- 
come that?  To  make  up  for  his  inability  to 
obtain  a  superiority  of  artillery  fire — an  es- 
sential for  a  successful  offensive — he  hurled 
great  masses  of  men  into  action,  fed  Russian 
peasants  by  the  thousands  into  the  fury  of  the 
Austrian  guns.  Day  after  day  they  came — 
hordes  of  Russian  infantry — almost  literally, 
as  an  Austrian   General  put  it,   "trampling 


228  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

down  our  trenches,"  which  means  paying  an 
appalling  price  in  human  life.  And  which  is 
emphatically  not  a  part  of  our  war  strategy; 
ifor  we  are  making  quantities  of  guns  and  in 
the  training  camps  quantities  of  officers  for 
these  guns.  Thus  our  infantry  will  have  tre- 
mendous artillery  support,  which  means  great 
protection  and  saving  of  life. 

So  well  was  the  land  of  France  and  Bel- 
gium mapped  in  the  years  before  the  war  as 
to  the  location  of  every  house  and  hedge,  so 
well  have  the  trench  systems  been  photo- 
graphed and  mapped  from  the  sky  since  the 
day  the  trenches  were  dug,  that  artillery 
ranging  there  is  quite  simple.  One  day  as  we 
studied  ranging  at  Madison  Barracks,  I 
thought  how  the  year  before,  I  stood  in  a 
bombproof  dug-out  in  the  side  of  a  slope  lead- 
ing down  to  the  canal  at  Houtem  which  is  in 
front  of  Ypres.  On  a  rough  table  there  lay 
a  map  with  a  scale,  corresponding  to  twelve 
inches  to  the  mile.  On  that  map  were  indi- 
cated all  the  positions  of  the  English,  which 
the  Huns  on  that  particular  section  of  the 
line  had  been  able  to  learn.  At  the  table  sat 
a  young  Bavarian  Lieutenant,  a  telephone 
clamped  to  his  head.     If  his  Colonel  had  de- 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  229 

sired  a  certain  section  of  the  English  front 
shelled  he  would  merely  have  had  to  call  up 
his  battery  station  and  say,  for  example, 
*'Open  fire  on  Position  24."  On  the  map  Po- 
sition 24  was  designated;  on  the  map  the  po- 
sition of  his  guns  was  designated.  A  simple 
matter  indeed  to  get  the  distance,  the  range 
from  the  guns  to  Position  24 — just  a  meas- 
urement of  the  map,  with  a  few  technical  cor- 
rections. .  .  , 

At  intervals  there  came  over  the  phone  to 
this  young  Bavarian  Lieutenant,  fire  observa- 
tions being  made  by  another  officer  of  the  bat- 
tery, posted,  one  guessed  in  the  trenches,  or  in 
one  of  the  several  church  steeples  nearby.  This 
information  enabled  the  Lieutenant  in  the  dug- 
out to  issue  orders  to  swing  the  fire  to  right  or 
left,  to  shorten  or  lengthen  it,  to  burst  the 
shrapnel  closer  to,  or  higher  above,  the  ground. 

As  we  stood  in  the  dug-out  the  young  Lieu- 
tenant became  quite  excited.  He  shouted  an 
order  to  a  Sergeant  at  the  dugout's  mouth; 
the  Sergeant  shouted  it  to  the  battery  not 
twenty  yards  away.  We  saw  the  cannoneers 
cease  firing,  strew  branches  over  the  guns  and 
race  for  the  ruins  of  a  house  a  hundred  yards 
away.  There  they  flattened  themselves  against 


230  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

the  walls.  The  officer  who  had  been  at  the  guns 
hurried  down  into  the  bombproof.  "Aero- 
plane," remarked  the  young  Bavarian  Lieu- 
tenant. 

It  was  then  clear  to  us.  Branches  strewn 
over  the  guns  to  conceal  them  from  eyes  in 
the  sky.  The  observer  far  to  the  front  must 
have  phoned  in  a  warning  that  English  avia- 
tors were  rising  to  look  for  the  battery.  The 
men  who  had  flattened  themselves  against  the 
walls  of  the  house?  That  made  them  more 
difficult  of  observation  from  the  sky. 

But  in  the  Officers'  Reserve  Corps  camps, 
we  were  not  merely  being  taught  the  use  of 
artillery  for  this  Western  front  warfare,  this 
being  able  to  measure  off  ranges  on  a  map, 
which  suggests  siege  operations.  That  is  quite 
quickly  obtained  once  one  has  the  fundament- 
als of  the  "war  of  manoeuvre."  Rather,  we 
were  taught  the  use  of  artillery  in  the  field,  the 
quick  moving  about,  shifting  of  positions,  the 
quick  going  into  action — mobility.  Once  a 
man  understands  that  kind  of  war  he  can  use 
the  guns  under  any  kind  of  conditions.  It 
gives  one  a  thrill  to  think  that  the  great  new 
American  Army  will  break  up  the  Hun  front 
and  that  then  there  will  come  a  chance  to  use 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  231 

our  guns  "in  the  field" — as  the  Germans  used 
theirs  when  they  swept  into  France  and  Bel- 
gium, galloping  after  the  withdrawing  Allies, 
covering  them  with  shell.  What  a  goal  for  an 
American  Field  Artillery  officer  to  look  for- 
ward to — galloping  after  retreating  Germans 
and  sweeping  them  wdth  shrapnel.  ...  It  will 
come. 

Before  our  course  ended  at  Madison  in  the 
second  week  of  August,  1917,  there  v/as  put 
at  our  disposal  much  of  the  confidential  in- 
formation relating  to  Field  Artillery  that  our 
General  Staff  has  acquired  from  Europe. 
Combine  this  with  our  own  School  of  Fire 
data,  and  you  get  an  idea  that  this  new  Na- 
tional Army  of  yours  is  going  to  be  quite  a 
business-like  proposition.  For  our  training 
w^as  broad.  Not  only  were  we  being  taught 
the  guns  and  how  to  use  them,  but  we  had  to 
know  something  about  horses — w^hat  their 
common  ailments  are,  how  to  cure  them,  how 
to  take  care  of  our  horses  so  as  to  get  the  most 
w^ork  out  of  them.  You  see  a  battery  is  de- 
pendent upon  its  horse.  Soldiers  cannot  pull 
the  guns.  They're  too  heavy.  Also,  we  had 
to  master  the  field  telegraph  or  "buzzer"  and 
the  "field  telephone."     We  had  learned  how 


232  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

to  take  apart  and  put  together  those  instru- 
ments. How  to  locate  and  remedy  "trouble" 
for  the  wires  make  an  important  means  of 
communication  between  the  observation  post 

of  the  officer  who  is  watching  and  correcting 
the  results  of  our  fire,  down  to  the  officer  in 

command  at  the  guns.  All  of  us  came  to  know 
the  International  Morse  Code  which  is  used  on 
our  "buzzers"  and  wig- wag,  for  if  the  "buzzer" 
falls  down,  we  send  our  "dot-dash"  messages 
with  a  flag.  And  in  August,  about  the  time 
we  started  to  fire  our  guns  with  sub-caliber 
ammunition,  other  future  officers  of  our  Ar- 
tillery in  Illinois,  California,  wherever  the 
camps  were,  were  firing  too. 

Sound  travels.  How  far?  I  wonder  if 
Potsdam  heard  those  guns.  Maybe  not,  later 
then.  Summer!  Our  guns — our  own  guns — 
playing  along  the  front  in  France;  muttering 
out,  for  Imperial  Germany,  a  Miserere,  an  im- 
measurable dirge,  which  will  drive  the  Hohen- 
zollerns  to  their  "old  German  God,"  quite 
mad. 


CHAPTER   XI 

WHY  WE  WILL  DEFEAT  GERMANY 

Because  what  follows  is  quite  personal,  the 
pronoun  "one"  will  be  used.  Since  1914,  when 
war  broke,  through  the  two  years  following 
one  has  seen  much  of  the  Kaiser's  War  Ma-' 
chine.  As  a  correspondent  for  American  pub- 
lications, one  followed  the  German  soldier 
from  the  day  he  reported  in  a  dreary  barrack 
yard  to  the  night  he  died  in  a  trench  at  La 
Basse.  One  has  seen  the  German  soldier  in  all 
stages  of  his  training  and  in  action  under  va- 
rying conditions.  One  has  watched  him  oni 
the  march  both  following  victory  and  leaving 
behind  defeat.  One  has  been  over  the  lines 
in  his  aeroplanes,  beside  his  guns  in  action,  in 
his  headquarters  and  in  his  front  line  trenches 
in  France.  One  observed  him  in  that  frightful 
winter  battle  of  East  Prussia  and  saw  the  cor- 
ruption that  he  sowed  in  1915  in  the  armies 
of  Russia,  the  way  the  betrayed  peasants  of 

233 


234  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

the  Czar  were  fed  to  the  fury  of  Krupp  guns. 
One  made  it  one's  business  to  learn  as  much 
about  the  Hun  as  possible.  And  when  one 
compares  the  power  of  the  Hun  to  make  war 
with  America,  one  does  so  from  first-hand  ob- 
servation. 

Is  the  German  War  Machine  the  invincible 
organization  we  have  been  led  to  believe  ?  Are 
its  soldiers  super-soldiers?  Are  its  officers  as 
efficient  as  gossip  says?  Do  they  fight  better 
than  any  other  people?  Is  there  something 
in  the  German,  the  German  soul  which  predes- 
tines them  to  victory?  Much  has  been  written 
about  that ;  much  is  bunk.    Let  us  see. 

Be  tolerant.  Because  one  begins  with  some- 
thing that  seems  dogmatic,  do  not  think  that 
one  is  seeking  to  bore.  But  to  understand 
why  Germany  will  be  crushed  we  must  tunnel' 
down  deep.  We  must  get  at  a  fundamental 
difference  between  the  way  they  think,  their 
army  thinks,  and  the  way  we  think.  Now  I 
am  not  going  to  drag  out  history,  but  if  you 
would  understand  the  nonchalance  with  which 
a  Hun  can  shoot  down  a  woman  or  child  you 
must  begin  'way  back.  The  Germans  are  not 
Christians.  They  never  have  been.  Their 
Kultur  is  a  veneer  over  barbarism.    Their  own 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  235 

Goethe  said  that  the  more  civilized  a  Prussian 
became,  the  more  barbarous  he  would  be. 
Goethe  looked  into  the  future  and  saw  Zep- 
pelins raining  bombs  on  hospitals  in  the 
streets  of  London.  He  saw  Belgium  raped, 
the  Canadians  crucified,  the  introduction  of 
poisonous  gas  into  war  and  the  Lusitania 
babies.  He  saw  the  young  womanhood  of 
Northern  France  put  in  freight  cars  with 
drunken  soldiers  of  the  Kaiser  and  sent  back 
to  Germany,  there  to  breed  soldiers  for  a  Ger- 
man Army  twenty  years  from  now.  Yet  the 
world  was  used  to  looking  upon  Germany  as 
a  Christian  nation.  Did  it  not  have  churches? 
The  German  has  never  thought  in  a  Chris- 
tian way.  We  attach  too  much  significance 
to  the  revolt  of  Luther.  That  was  more  tem- 
poral than  spiritual.  The  German  of  old  be- 
lieved in  barbaric  gods.  He  believed  in  Wo- 
tan,  Thor,  Brunhilde.  The  German  of  to-day 
believes  in  the  old  barbaric  gods.  His  Chris- 
tianity is  but  a  gesture.  What  does  the  Kaiser 
mean  when  in  his  speeches  he  refers  to  "Our 
old  German  God"?  When  they  wanted  a 
fetish,  a  name  that  would  bring  them  luck, 
when  they  were  being  pushed  back  in  France 
and  they  organized  a  great  new  line  of  trench- 


236  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

es,  a  place  where  they  could  take  refuge  from 
the  relentless  attack  of  the  English,  what  name 
did  they  pick  for  it  ?  They  named  it  after  their 
old  German  God.  Look  on  a  war  map  and 
vou  can  see  it  there — the  JVotan  line, 

Now  when  the  ancient  Germans  came  into 
contact  with  Rome  they  met  Christianity. 
Their  religion  had  been  based  upon  war.  When 
a  tribe  went  out  to  fight  they  invoked  the  aid 
of  Thor  and  his  hammer.  If  thev  were  killed 
they  believed  that  the  beautiful  Brunhilde 
flew  down  from  the  sky  with  her  escort  of 
mounted  Valkyrie,  who  picked  up  killed  and 
wounded  alike,  threw  them  across  the  saddles 
and  galloped  back  skyward.  There  they  went 
into  the  Hall  of  Wotan.  A  magic  salve 
healed  their  wounds.  Then  there  was  a  great 
feast  over  which  Wotan  presided  and  every- 
body got  delightfully  stewed  drinking  mead 
out  of  hollowed-out  horns.  The  next  day  the 
dead  and  wounded  were  sent  back  to  earth  to 
fight.  That  was  the  Teutons  conception  of  the 
Resurrection. 

They  became  "converted"  to  Christianity. 
Can  you  imagine  that  gang  ever  accepting  the 
doctrine  that  the  meek  are  blessed  ?  They  never 
did.    They  scratched  their  shaggy  beards  and 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  237 

accepted  Christianity  with  reservations — be- 
cause their  gang  leaders  told  them  to.  They 
swapped  deities.  They  exchanged  Wotan  for 
Jehovah.  Now  that  was  all  right.  Jehovah 
at  one  time  might  have  been  something  like 
Wotan ;  but  he  had  gotten  old,  a  bit  bored  ivdth 
w^ar  and  had  put  on  some  weight  around  the 
belt.  They  exchanged  Thor  for  Lucifer.  That 
was  all  right.  Lucifer  was  a  good  fighter  in 
his  day.  Now  he  was  merely  in  the  reserves. 
They  judged  he  still  had  the  punch  if  he 
wanted  to  use  it.  They  swapped  off  Brun- 
hilde  for  the  Virgin  JNIary.  That  went  all 
right. 

There  the  Germans  stopped.  None  of  their 
ancient  gods  could  they  exchange  for  Christ, 
the  man  who  was  his  brother's  keeper,  who 
preached  helping  the  weak,  who  made  com- 
panions of  the  downtrodden.  That  did  not 
suit  the  Germans.  They  never  accepted  the 
teachings  of  Christ.  Their  interest  in  Him  is 
merely  conventional  and  historical.  Examine 
into  the  way  they  think,  look  at  quotations  of 
their  most  popular  writers,  "The  weak  should 
perish,  and  it  is  our  duty  to  help  them  perish," 
and  this  gem,  "Women  are  for  bearing  chil- 
dren, men  are  for  making  war!" 


238  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

The  teachings  of  their  beloved  philosopher 
Nietzsche,  who  exhorted  a  whole  nation  to  cast 
aside  sentimentality,  who  called  Christianity 
the  greatest  curse  that  ever  befell  humanity, 
who  begged  and  cajoled  the  whole  German 
nation  to  be  ruthless,  cruel  and  deceitful — his 
teachings  succeeded. 

The  Germans  began  as  savages.  In  their 
subconscious  minds  they  think  like  savages  to- 
day, their  religion  is  the  old  code  that  the  weak 
are  a  blotch  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  that 
it  is  the  duty  of  the  strong  to  make  them  per- 
ish. They  did  their  best  to  exterminate  Bel- 
gium, Servia,  Rumania,  Poland,  and  the  weak, 
the  women  and  children,  of  Northern  France. 
When  the  Germans  fight  there  is  no  big  spirit- 
ual motive  urging  them  on.  Their  motive  at 
the  start  of  the  war  was  greed,  just  as  the  mo- 
tive of  their  barbarian  ancestors  who  swooped 
down  on  Rome  was  greed — greed  and  lust  for 
blood. 

Consider  that  the  highest  in  Imperial  Ger- 
many looted.  One  of  the  Kaiser's  sons  stole 
a  fine  turnout  and  a  team  of  horses  in  Su- 
walki,  Russia.  The  heir  to  the  Imperial  throne, 
when  he  wasn't  engrossed  with  the  butcher's 
daughter  in  the  house  of  the  ironmaster  in 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  239 

Esch  sur,  I'Azette,  Luxemburg,  was  stealing 
silver  candlesticks  and  old  paintings  from 
chateaus  and  sending  them  back  to  his  wife's 

palace  in  Potsdam.  When  so  prominent  a 
general  as  their  Yon  Kluck  and  his  staff  looted 
the  home  of  Madame  Huard,  an  American 
woman — incidentally  breaking  open  a  bureau 
and  finding  an  American  flag  there,  which  they 
left  when  they  retreated,  conspicuously  plug- 
ging up  a  toilet — imagine  what  their  millions 
of  soldiers  did  to  the  homes  of  Belgium  and 
France. 

Their  rulers  told  them  it  would  be  a  short 
war,  a  quick  victory.  They  painted  to  them  a 
conquered  world  with  its  riches  lying  at  their 
feet.  Their  rulers  began  the  war  for  greed,  to 
gain  land,  to  saddle  an  enormous  indemnity 
on  a  crushed  France,  whom  they  expected 
would  be  suing  for  peace  by  January  of  1915. 
I  know  this.  I  heard  a  drunken  and  a  high 
officer  of  their  General  Staff  boast  it.  The 
impulse  of  the  whole  nation  in  going  into  the 
war  was  greed.  Only  the  other  day  a  French 
Officer  touched  off  the  situation  quite  neatly. 

Speaking  to  our  regiment  in  a  training 
camp,  he  likened  Belgium  to  a  man  living  in 
a  little  house.     Germany,  the  burglar,  broke 


240  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

in,  got  as  far  as  the  first  floor  when  the  man 
driven  to  the  second  floor  yelled  for  help.  The 
neighbors  came  and  surrounded  the  house. 
They  couldn't  catch  the  burglar.  He  was  too 
strong.  He  was  forty  years  getting  ready  for 
this  job.  The  neighbors  had  just  jumped  out 
of  bed  in  their  pajamas,  but  they  wouldn't  go 
away  and  they  wouldn't  let  the  burglar  get 
away  with  his  booty.  Pretty  soon  they  began 
to  get  some  of  the  fighting  implements  the 
burglar  had.  He  saw  he  was  in  for  it,  he  pro- 
posed to  divide  half  of  his  loot  if  they  would 
let  him  go.  They  scorned  his  offer.  They  will 
scorn  every  offer  until  he  gives  up  everything 
and  goes  to  jail  in  the  bargain. 

He  is  in  the  wrong;  they  are  in  the  right. 
He  is  fighting  the  fight  of  the  thief  cornered 
with  the  goods.  They  are  fighting  the  fight 
for  justice.  Educators,  philosophers,  writers, 
playwrights,  public  speakers,  got  Germany  to 
thinking  that  might  was  right,  that  their  Kai- 
ser was  a  being  anointed  of  God,  that  the 
Germans  were  the  chosen  people  of  God — 
whose  mission  it  was  to  conquer  the  world, 
^hich  brings  us  to  the  soul  of  the  German 
Army. 

They  did  not  get  peace  by  January,  1915, 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  241 

as  planned.  They  did  not  crush  France  and 
collect  the  big  indemnity,  as  planned.  They 
were  not  invincible,  as  believed.  They  got  a 
terrible  licking  at  the  Marne — unexpected. 
They  have  lost  over  a  million  dead — furcht- 
bar!  Their  whole  nation  is  on  a  starvation 
diet — ach,  Gott!  Their  rulers  are  continually 
promising  them  a  peace  which  never  comes — 
they  went  to  war  for  greed.  Poverty  stares 
them  in  the  face.  They  went  to  war  believing 
might  was  right.  They  drank  the  blood  of  na- 
tions as  no  savages  in  history  ever  dared.  Yet 
all  this  availed  them  nothing.  Slowly  they  are 
being  driven  back.  The  only  language  they 
know  is  force.  They  are  now  getting  more 
force  than  they  want.    They  will  get  more. 

They  have  nothing,  no  big  fine  emotion  to 
keep  them  going.  They  began  as  successful 
crooks  and  now  they  are  cornered  crooks. 
Which  is  the  way  they  are  fighting,  devoid  of 
anything  in  their  soul  to  stir  them  to  the  enor- 
mous sacrifices  they  will  have  to  make,  once; 
the  pressure  of  America's  new  armies  is  put 
against  them.  At  the  outset  they  swept  every- 
thing before  them ;  then  their  morale  was  won- 
derful. Their  morale  is  bound  to  curdle  in  a 
losing  fight. 


242  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

They  are  in  a  losing  fight  and  they  know  it. 
Contrast  with  this  the  fact  that  America  never 
went  to  war  for  greed.  She  fought  for  her  in- 
dependence; then  to  preserve  it.  She  fought 
to  free  her  own  kind  living  under  a  barbarous 
flag.  She  fought  to  preserve  her  own  nation 
that  threatened  to  split  apart,  because  she 
granted  freedom  to  all  men.  She  fought  to 
free  the  oppressed  of  a  European  colony  and 
now  what?  She  is  fighting  to  preserve  her 
own  liberty  and  by  that  the  whole  world's, 
from  the  greed  of  the  Hun. 

America  is  a  Christian  nation.  We  do  not 
believe  that  might  is  right.  We  have  given 
of  our  blood  so  the  weak  would  not  perish,  so 
that  men  would  be  free.  We  are  fighting  for 
an  ideal.  Germany  is  fighting  basely.  It  is 
not  hard  to  die  for  an  ideal.  It  is  hell  to  die 
for  money.  This  is  the  basic  difference  be- 
tween their  ability  to  make  war  to-day  and 
ours.  The  morale,  the  spiritual  power  of  a 
nation  at  war,  is  of  enormous  importance.  And 
the  morale  is  all  in  our  favor. 

-It  is  just  that  difference  which  will  make  the 
new  American  Army  superior  to  Germany's. 
I  fully  appreciate  how  extravagant  that  may 
read  to  the  capricious,   but   consider  that  I 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  243 

make  it,  even  after  having  seen  the  wonderful 
discipline  of  the  German  Army.  Here  is  the 
difference:  In  1915  I  stood  in  the  barracks 
yard  of  the  German  infantry  kaserne  at 
Frankfort-on-Main.  A  new  conscript  levy 
was  being  trained.  I  asked  the  Rittmeister , 
who  was  acting  as  our  guide:  "What  is  the 
fundamental  idea  of  your  system  of  training?" 

In  an  airy  manner,  it  never  occurring  to 
him  that  he  was  disposing  of  the  personality 
of  men,  he  said,  "We  take  away  their  name 
and  give  them  a  number.  As  Hans  Schmidt 
a  man  ceases  to  exist.  We  strive  to,"  and  the 
jMajor  cynically  smiled,  "entirely  destroy  all 
their  individuality.  They  become  cogs  in  a 
machine,"  and  his  manner  took  on  that  objec- 
tionable boastfulness,  "a  world  invincible  ma- 
chine as  you  have  seen." 

Now  the  little  parts  of  a  machine  cannot 
function  unless  the  greater  parts  first  function. 
Now  it  is  a  fact  that  German  troops  often 
readily  surrender  after  their  officers  and  non- 
commissioned officers  have  been  wounded  or 
killed.  In  other  words,  these  little  cogs  of  a 
machine  cease  to  work  when  the  more  impor- 
tant parts  are  disabled  or  cease  to  exist.  Con- 
trast that  with  our  system — as  we  are  employ- 


244  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

ing  it  in  cantonments.  Those  of  us  who  are 
drilling  the  new  American  Army  are  not 
taking  away  the  individuality  of  the  men  un- 
der us  and  making  them  mere  cogs  of  a  ma- 
chine. Rather,  although  being  thoroughly  dis- 
ciplined, these  new  American  soldiers  are  to 
be  taught — after  they  almost  subconsciously 
obey  the  commands  of  close  order  work — 
"squads  rights,"  etc. — they  are  to  he  taught 
to  act  on  their  own  initiative  if  their  immedi- 
ate superiors  all  become  put  out  of  action. 

See  how  this  works  out.  In  the  infantry  for 
example,  you  are  in  "extended  order,"  mean- 
ing you  advance,  lie  down,  or  halt  with  a  yard 
between  each  man.  That  is  a  formation  for 
the  open  firing  line,  the  men  separated  by  that 
yard  interval  so  as  to  present  a  compact  tar- 
get. You  are  taught  that  the  Captain  com- 
mands your  company  skirmish  line,  that  he  sig- 
nals orders  to  platoon  leaders  (a  company  is 
divided  into  platoons) .  These  platoon  leaders 
signal  the  orders — "Cease  firing,"  etc. — to  the 
squad  leaders.  Corporals  (in  each  platoon 
there  are  four  squads  of  eight  men  each). 
These  Corporals  transmit  the  orders  to  the 
seven  other  m^en  in  their  squads.  So  much  for 
the  machine  idea. 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  245 

But  now  here  is  the  difference.  Every 
American  private  is  trained  to  watch  his  tar- 
get, to  fire  more  rapidly  when  it  becomes  more 
visible,  to  be  economical  of  ammunition,  to 
take  cover  (hide  behind  brush,  rocks,  etc.)  but 
not  to  hide  behind  that  cover  too  long  (a  man 
in  a  warm  room  hates  to  jump  into  a  cold 
bath)  but  to  advance.  In  brief,  the  private  is 
taught  how  to  act  on  his  own  resources  on  the 
firing  line,  although  told  to  take  orders  from 
his  Corporal.  Thus  if  his  Corporal,  if  his  pla- 
toon leaders  are  ]Dut  out  of  action,  that  Ameri- 
can private  is  not  useless.  He  does  not  lose  his 
head.  He  has  been  taught  how  to  act  on  his 
own  responsibility.  Under  all  the  military 
discipline,  his  individuality  has  been  allowed 
to  live — not  destroyed  like  in  the  German  War 
IMachine.  Which  is  why  in  the  last  analysis 
the  American  once  trained  is  a  better  soldier 
than  the  German.  He  does  not  lose  his  head 
and  get  into  a  panic  when  his  immediate  supe- 
riors are  killed,  and,  not  knowing  what  to  do, 
forthwith  surrenders,  bellowing  ''Kamerad! 
Comrade!"  to  those  he  wishes  to  capture  him. 

In  the  Ofiicers'  Training  camps  of  1917  our 
instructors  gave  us  the  viewpoint  of  American 
Officers.    It  was  of  enormous  importance  how 


246  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

those  of  us  who  were  commissioned  would 
handle  the  men  under  us  in  the  new  American 
Army.  We  have  taken  to  heart  Army  Regu- 
lations, which  say:  ''Superiors  are  forbidden 
to  injure  those  under  their  authority  by  ty- 
rannical or  capricious  conduct  or  by  abusive 
language.  While  maintaining  discipline  and 
the  thorough  and  prompt  performance  of  mili- 
tary duty,  all  officers,  in  dealing  with  enlisted 
men,  mil  bear  in  mind  the  absolute  necessity 
of  so  treating  them  as  to  preserve  their  self- 
respect/' 

An  ideal  which  it  is  very  wise  for  any  young 
Officer  to  take  as  his  own.  If  he  does  he  will 
get  more  willing  work  out  of  his  men.  They 
will  enjoy  their  work  more.  And  what  makes 
more  for  efficiency  than  "creative  joy"  in 
things  military  as  in  everything  else.  I  con- 
trast this  ideal — the  ideal  that  our  Reserve  Of- 
ficers were  given  for  the  new  American  Army, 
with  the  German  way.  And  again  the  Kaiser's 
War  Machine  is  the  loser.  I  stood  with  the 
walls  of  the  shell-shattered  church  of  the  An- 
nunciation of  Mary  the  Virgin  in  Houtem, 
which  is  before  Ypres.  It  was  filled  with  Ger- 
man soldiers  being  given  a  drill  in  loading  and 
firing  for  the  trenches.    I  heard  an  officer  bel- 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  247 

low  at  them,  "Faster,  you  pig  dogs.  Faster!" 
How  they  would  rejoice  in  giving  their  lives 
for  that  officer,  would  they  not?  They  would 
not. 

As  an  American  correspondent  left  the  rail- 
road station  in  Lille,  after  the  Germans  cap- 
tured it.  Bavarian  privates,  farmer  boys, 
stopped  to  gaze  at  the  American.  Whereupon 
a  German  officer  with  him  slashed  their  faces 
w^ith  a  riding  crop.  Imagine  that  officer, 
called  upon  to  lead  those  same  men  in  a  charge. 
He'd  quicldy  be  killed,  shot  or  "accidentally*' 
bayonetted  in  the  back.  All  of  which  means 
inefficiency.  Yes,  the  new  American  Army 
has  that  decided  advantage  over  the  German 
— the  spirit  governing  the  relations  between 
officers  and  men. 

We  were  taught  that  while  strict  discipline 
is  imperative,  that  the  officers  who  encourage 
confidence  and  sympathy  in  their  men,  who 
can  induce  their  men  to  come  to  them  for  ad- 
vice in  their  troubles,  those  men  will  get  better 
results  than  the  most  marvelous  disciplinarian 
who  treats  his  men  as  if  they  were  not  human 
beings  but  mere  mechanical  cogs.  It  is  team 
work  that  counts.  Men  going  into  battle,  each 
pulling  for  the  other,  for  their  officers,  for  the 


248  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

whole,  accomplish  more  than  men  lashed  into 

battle.     Do  you  remember  the  speech  your 

football  coach  used  to  make  between  halves? 

*'Come  on,  men.    All  together  now.    You  can 

do  it.    Tear  them  to  pieces."    That's  the  spirit 

— the  "get  together"  idea — not  the  attitude  of 

the  Prussian  Lieutenant,  "The  first  man  who 

wavers  will  get  a  pistol  bullet  in  his  head." 

Ours  will  be  the  onslaught  of  the  spiritual,  not 

the  onslaught  bred  by  fear  of  those  above  us. 

As  the  Officers  are,  so  is  the  Army.    There 
is  much  that  is  mythical  about  the  German 

officer.  He  is  a  product  of  German  educa- 
tion. He  fills  himself  with  poisonous  philos- 
ophy which  makes  him  believe  that  he  is  every- 
thing, that  all  else  is  nothing.  The  things  he 
studies  in  the  cadet  schools  or  the  universities 
make  him  an  enormous  egotist.  Just  so  long 
as  the  German  officer  can  subordinate  that 
egotism  to  the  orders  of  the  War  Machine  he 
leads  his  troops  into  battle  unafraid.  When 
he  is  not  under  orders,  when  there  is  no  magic 
or  mummery  of  the  Kaiser  in  the  air  he  is  often 
a  coward.  He  is  afraid  of  death  because  he 
is  such  an  enormous  eo^otist. 

Two  things  come  to  mind.    The  little  shell- 
shot  village  of  Houtem  in  front  of  Ypres ;  two 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  249 

American  correspondents  in  charge  of  a  Cap- 
tain of  the  German  General  Staff.  He  agreed 
to  take  them  down  to  the  front  line  trenches. 
At  Brigade  Headquarters,  he  learned  that  a 
part  of  the  road  they  would  have  to  go  down 
was  open  to  machine  gun  fire.  He  had  agreed 
to  see  the  whole  thing  through.  He  backed 
out  and  detailed  a  Sergeant  to  take  the  Ameri- 
cans down.  The  point  I  am  trying  to  make 
is  that  if  that  officer  had  been  ordered  to  take 
the  correspondents  down  he  would  have 
obeyed.  But  on  his  own  bottom  just  taking 
a  sporting  chance — nothing  doing! 

It  was  not  in  his  make-up.  He  was  too 
much  of  an  egotist.  He  would  have  obeyed 
an  order  through  fear  of  court-martial  and 
w^hat  people  would  say,  were  he  to  disobey. 
And  he  is  like  most  of  the  officers  in  the  Ger- 
man Army.  They  think  like  machines.  They 
obey  like  machines.  They  haven't  it  in  them 
to  do  the  nervy  thing  just  for  the  zest  of  it. 
That  is  why  their  aviation  officers  hate 
the  American  flying  corps  of  the  French 
Army. 

When  the  French  wanted  to  blind  the  Ger- 
man artillery  at  Verdun,  they  sent  for  the  Es- 
quadrille  Lafayette,  American  flyers  in  the 


250  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

French  service.  The  Americans  loved  the 
risky  game  they  were  in.  Fighting  the  Ger- 
mans they  took  break-neck  chances  in  the  air 
and  made  the  Germans  really  look  foolish.  The 
difference  was  the  German  aviation  officers 
were  methodically  obeying  orders,  so  much, 
nothing  more.  The  Americans  were  fighting 
the  way  a  'varsity  team  holds  for  downs  on  the 
one  yard  line.  There  is  that  difference  between 
the  German  officer  and  the  American,  and 
there  is  another. 

If  anything,  our  way  of  fighting  is  more 
reckless  than  the  English.  When  the  North- 
umberland Fusiliers  went  over  the  top  at  the 
Hun,  do  you  know  what  they  did?  They 
took  a  soccer  football  with  them  and  during 
the  charge  kicked  it  from  one  man  to  the 
other.  If  a  man  who  was  about  to  kick  it  went 
down,  another  ran  up  and  gave  the  ball  a  boot 
— all  this  under  machine  gun  fire.  It  got  the 
Hun's  goat.  German  officers  who  were  cap- 
tured in  that  attack  were  indignant.  For  the 
English  to  charge  kicking  a  football,  that  to 
the  mind  of  a  German  officer  was  almost  sac- 
rilege. Had  they  not  been  taught  for  years 
that  war  is  a  holy  thing?  And  so  do  they  fight, 
doggedly,  without  song,  except  when  it  is  or- 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  251 

dered.  Orders,  blind  obedience  to  them,  as 
much  as  the  orders  call  for,  that  and  nothing 
more — by  that  their  courage  is  limited. 

The  German  officer  is  taught  to  be  a  brute 
in  his  cadet  school..  The  Kaiser's  dictates  have 
placed  him  so  far  above  a  civilian  that  even  in 
peace  times  a  Lieutenant  in  command  of  a 
platoon  marching  through  the  streets  of  Ber- 
lin could  hold  up  the  fire  department  rushing 
to  a  burning  building  until  his  platoon  had 
passed.  They  treat  their  soldiers  like  cattle. 
The  discipline  of  their  army  is  one  of  fear.  It 
is  ground  into  the  men.  The  education  that 
the  men  got  deliberately  prepared  them  for 
this  kind  of  discipline.  American  soldiers 
would  not  stand  for  it. 

I  have  heard  German  officers  order  men 
flogged.  I  have  seen  them  trip  and  send  a 
man  sprawling  in  the  mud.  To  strike  a  soldier 
in  the  face  with  a  riding  crop — or  a  woman 
either  for  that  matter — is  no  uncommon  thing. 
It  is  rare  that  the  soldiers  of  a  German  com- 
pany like  their  captain.  That  is  not  uncom- 
mon in  the  American  Army.  I  heard  a  Ger- 
man officer  call  men  who  were  just  going  into 
the  trenches  "damn  pig  dogs"  and  something 
worse.    Imagine  such  tyrannical  conduct  ever 


252  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

existing  in  the  American  Army  without  the 
officer  being  court-martialed.  I  have  talked  to 
German  wounded  in  the  hospital,  I  have  heard 
them  curse  their  officers.  Judge  that  by  their 
own  word  "efficiency."  Do  you  think  soldiers 
who  obey  through  fear,  who  secretly  hate,  can 
compare  with  the  soldiers  of  the  National 
Army  most  of  whom  think  "We  are  in  this. 
Let's  make  the  best  of  it.    Do  a  good  job." 

Do  you  think  that  the  German  private  is 
going  to  fight  as  well  as  the  American?  He 
cannot.  He  has  nothing  to  fall  back  on.  He's 
a  crook  caught  with  the  goods,  and  every  day 
the  police  are  getting  stronger  and  our  Ameri- 
can soldiers  are  the  police.  They  represent 
law  among  nations,  order  among  people,  jus- 
tice to  humanity.  And  they  sing  "God  help 
Kaiser  Bill."  And  Kaiser  Bill  will  call  on 
Wotan,  his  old  German  God,  and  he  will  find 
him  quite  steeped  in  his  bowl  of  mead  and  un- 
able to  help  at  all.  For  the  Huns  are  fighting 
without  an  ideal.  And  our  ideal  ?  Do  you  re- 
member how  well  the  Crusaders  used  to  fight? 
Their  ideal  spanned  the  centuries.  It  was  the 
form  of  a  cross. 


CHAPTER   XII 


"all  in  the  day's  work'' 


Now  the  National  Army  is  not  one  vast 
body  of  men  thinking  day  and  night  of  war. 
They  are  not  men  who  have  had  their  individ- 
ualities fused  into  a  military  machine.  Not 
that  they  are  indifferent  soldiers.  They  are 
good,  very  good.  But  they  are  human,  en- 
tirely so.  They  laugh — as  every  democratic 
army  laughs — the  English,  the  French,  the 
Canadian.  And  it  is  when  they  laugh  that  one 
more  often  glimpses  the  other  side  of  them — 
and  of  their  officers.  For  as  I  think  these 
things  over  I  think  how  few  of  them  would 
have  been  tolerated  in  an  army  with  a  heart  of 
steel,  like  the  German.  As  I  think  of  "Beefy" 
and  "Mike"  Hogan,  I'm  glad  it's  that  way, 
because  it  does  soldiers  good  to  laugh.  There 
are  times  when  even  grim  Mars  smiles.  He 
must. 

Almost  immediately  after  a  "rookie"  is  ac- 

253 


254  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

cepted  he  has  read  to  him  extracts  from  the 
*'blue  book,"  Army  Regulations,  and  from 
the  Articles  of  War,  the  backbone  of  military 
law.  He  is  told  what  his  rights  as  a  soldier  are 
— the  treatment  that  he  has  a  right  to  receive, 
the  things  he  must  and  must  not  do.  He  has 
the  right  to  protest  against  tyrannical  and 
abusive  conduct  by  an  officer  and  to  cause  that 
officer  to  be  court-martialed.  He  is  told  that 
in  time  of  war  the  punishment  for  certain  mil- 
itary offences  is  particularly  severe. 

In  any  National  Army  cantonment  with  the 
coming  of  green  recruits  you  can  see  them,  in 
a  "squad  room,"  gathered  around  an  officer 
who  is  reading  aloud  from  a  legal-looking 
book  that  contains  the  Articles  of  War.  By 
the  time  he  has  finished,  seven  things  stick  in 
their  minds : 

The  penalty  for  desertion  can  be — Death. 

For  going  asleep  while  on  sentry  duty — 
Death. 

For  violating  a  safeguard — Death. 

For  giving  aid  or  comfort  to  the  enemy — 
Death. 

For  mutiny — Death. 

For  looting — Death. 

For  rapine  —  Death. 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  255 

In  one  of  our  negro  regiments  of  the  Na- 
tional Army  a  Captain  had  just  closed  his 
book. 

"Men,"  he  said,  "I  have  read  to  you  the 
Articles  of  War  that  you  are  required  to  know 
for  your  own  good.    Any  questions?" 

A  young  buck  with  a  scar  on  his  right  cheek 
got  up.  "Capt'n,"  he  drawled,  "Ah  likes  t' 
asks  yo'  one  liT  queshun.  Jes'  s'pose  some 
low-down  niggah  steals  mah  watch  or  sum- 
thing,  and  Ah  catches  him.  What  does  Ah 
do?" 

"What  would  you  do.  Recruit  Lewis?", 
asked  the  Captain. 

The  negro's  eyes  rolled  happily.  "Why, 
Capt'n,"  and  he  smiled  lusciously,  "Ah  would 
suttinly  make  dat  coon  looks  like  a  dish  o' 
stew'd  tripe  a  la  mulatto.  Ah'd  get  out  mah 
Old  Ben  an'  Ah'd  shorely  carve  up  dat  coon." 

"You'd  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  replied  the 
Captain.  "You'd  report  the  thief  at  once  to 
the  First  Sergeant,  and  we'd  handle  his  case." 

"But,  Capt'n,  couldn't  Ah  takes  jes'  one 
liT  swipe  at  dat  coon?" 

"Not  one,"  cautioned  the  Captain.  "If 
there's  any  punishment  to  be  made,  we'll  make 
it.     Another  thing:    from  now  on  razors  are 


256  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

only  to  shave  yourself  with.  Get  it?  If  I  hear 
of  any  of  you  ever  fighting  with  razors,  I'll 
take  away  every  razor  in  the  company  and 
make  you  patronize  the  regimental  barber. 
The  use  of  your  razors  on  any  one  but  Ger- 
mans is  forbidden." 

And  with  that  there  came  into  being  among 
them  a  certain  noblesse  oblige  about  the  razor 
which  is  being  tactfully  observed.  Like  the 
Hun,  they  now  have  a  "Der  Tag"  to  look  for- 
ward to. 

Malingering  is  a  trick  of  old  soldiers  more 
than  of  new.  But  the  "rookie"  catches  on 
quickly  enough  and  tries  it.  He  doesn't  try 
very  often.  There  was  a  boy  in  our  regiment 
who  tried  it.  In  civil  life  he  had  been  a  negro 
vaudeville  trooper,  done  his  two  a  day  and 
then  loafed.  The  hard  work  of  a  soldier  didn't 
appeal  to  him.  One  morning  Private  Coles 
reported  at  Sick  Call  and  was  duly  sent  over 
to  the  Regimental  Infirmary. 

"Ah  has  an  awful  pain  in  mah  head.  Doc- 
tor," he  said.    "Ah  kain't  drill  to-day." 

"Put  out  your  tongue." 

yard  or  so  of  tongue  was  reluctantly  ex- 
tended. 

"Hm,"  remarked  the  Medical  Captain;  and 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  257 

then  to  an  orderly:    "Bring  me  a  big  dose  of 
castor  oil." 

Private  Coles  made  a  grimace  and  shifted 
uneasily. 

"Mah  headache  seems  better,  Doctor!"  he 
suggested. 

"Can't  take  any  chances  on  your  case,"  re- 
marked the  Captain.  "You  need  a  big  dose  of 
castor  oil."  The  orderly  approached  with  a 
beaker  brimming  with  the  sickly-looking  fluid. 
"Ugh,"  gasped  Private  Coles.  "Doctor,  mah 
headache  am  most  surprisin'  better." 

"No,"  persisted  the  Medical  Captain,  with 
just  the  suspicion  of  a  smile  around  his  mouth. 
"This  will  keep  you  from  ever  having  a  head- 
ache again.  .  .  .  Here" — and  he  handed  the 
negro  the  castor  oil — "drink  that!" 

"Oh,  Lawdy,  Doctor!  Oh,  my  oh  my!  Ah 
can't  take  'at,  Doctor!" 

"Drink  it!"  ordered  ttie  Captain.  There 
was  a  splutter,  a  gasp,  a  groan.  "Ugh!  .  .  . 
Whew!  .   .   .  My  Gawd,  Doctor!" 

Feel  better?"  grimly  asked  the  Captain. 
Can  you  drill  now?" 

Yas,  suh.  Yas,  suh,"  Private  Coles  made 
haste  to  say.  It  was  his  first,  and  last,  attempt 
at  malingering.    Wise  army  doctors  find  a  big 


it 


258  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

hooker  of  castor  oil  a  sure  cure  for  all  cases  of 
fake  aches  and  pains. 

Not  always  too  careful  in  their  combing, 
the  Exemption  Boards  sent  to  camp  some  men 
who  belonged  rather  in — shall  we  say  Russia? 
— than  in  the  army.  One  refers  to  the  "nuts." 
Now  in  a  certain  regiment  of  a  certain  canton- 
ment one  whispers  this  story — for  the  Major 
has  never  quite  gotten  over  it :  A  Captain  was 
ordered  to  detail  a  man  for  duty  as  the  Ma- 
jor's orderly.  Now  the  Major  and  this  Cap- 
tain had  never  hit  it  off  together.  The  Cap- 
tain picked  a  man  from  his  company  and  de-* 
tailed  him  as  orderly. 

Be  present  in  the  Major's  office  as  the  man 
reports. 

A  knock  at  the  door,  impatiently  repeated, 
and  the  Private  enters.  A  bit  ruffled,  the 
Major  eyes  him  askance. 

"What  do  you  want?" 

"Private  Bugby  reports  for  duty  as  the  Ma- 
jor's orderly." 

The  Major  looked  gratified.  Obviously  the 
Captain  had  chosen  a  well-trained  Private. 
Had  he  not  phrased  his  introduction  according 
to  the  rules  of  Military  Courtesy?  Which  was 
only  right;  a  Major  should  have  the  best. 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  259 

"Private  Biigby,  you  may  sweep  out  the 
office." 

That  was  the  test.  The  Major  watched 
him.  He  saw  his  new  orderly  take  a  quick 
glance  around  the  room  and  then,  seeing  no 
broom,  draw  himself  up  to  attention,  salute 
and  depart.  "Good!"  the  Major  told  himself. 
"Has  initiative.  Didn't  ask  me  where  the 
broom  was,  but  went  out  to  get  it.  I  must  tell 
Captain  X how  pleased  I  am  with  Pri- 
vate Bugby." 

Five  minutes  passed,  but  no  orderly.  Ten 
.     .     .     a  half  hour. 

The  Major's  annoyance  grew  greater  as 
time  passed. 

"The  idiot!"  he  thought.  "Where  can  he  be 
looking  for  that  broom?"  Presently  the  Ma- 
jor went  out  to  look  for  his  orderly.  He  vis- 
ited every  barrack  in  vain.  Then  in  a  tower- 
ing rage  he  sought  Private  Bugby  in  the  bath 
houses.  "Probably  hugging  the  stove — the 
scoundrel!"  It  was  indeed  in  a  bath  house 
that  the  Major  found  his  orderly.  Private 
Bugby  was  seated  atop  the  partition  that  di- 
vides the  showers.  His  long  legs  dangled 
down.  He  was  breathless  as  from  some  unto- 
ward exertion.     "What  the  devil!"  ejaculated 


260  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

the  Major.  "Private  Bugby,  what  are  you 
doing  up  there?" 

But  the  Private,  his  mind  intent  upon  some- 
thing else,  did  not  hear  him.  His  arms  that^ 
had  been  hanging  lifeless  began  to  stir;  he 
flapped  them  up  and  down.  Dumbfounded, 
the  Major  watched  him.  "Private  Bugby, 
come  down!" 

"Cock-a-doodle-doo!"  burst  from  his  or- 
derly. "Cock-a-doodle-doo!"  and  madly  his 
arms  flapped. 

"Private  Bugby,"  shouted  the  Major,  "come 
down!" 

This  time  the  "rookie"  heard  him;  he  seemed 
to  start  as  if  from  a  trance.  "Can't  do  it,  Ma- 
jor. It's  ten  o'clock.  Every  morning  at  ten 
I  must  crow.  .   .   .     Cock-a-doodle-doo !" 

With  blood  in  his  eyes,  the  Major  went  to 
find  the  Captain.  Quite  blandly — the  Cap- 
tain's friends  say — he  pointed  out  to  the  Ma- 
jor that  he  had  asked  him  to  have  the  Colonel 
convene  a  board  of  officers  on  the  case  of  Pri- 
vate Bugby  and  that  twice  the  Major  had 
scoffed  at  the  idea,  remarking:  "He's  only 
stalling  you.  No  recruit  passed  by  the  Local 
Board  physicians  is  insane."  So  with  "Cock- 
a-doodle-doo!"  ringing  in  his  ears,  the  Major 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  261 

made  haste  to  start  proceedings  for  Private 
Biigby's  discharge. 

The  psychological  tests  that  were  held  in 
every  cantonment  were  irreverently  called 
"nut  examinations,"  and  the  learned  psycholo- 
gists who  conducted  them  were  known  as  "nut 
pickers."  Every  command  in  every  National 
Army  cantonment,  officers  and  men,  had  to 
report  to  the  "nut  pickers."  Come  with  us  to 
this  examination.  Into  an  empty  ward  of  the 
Base  Hospital  at  a  cantonment  the  soldiers  file 
and,  sitting  on  wooden  benches,  face  the  psy- 
chologist. 

"You  are  each  supplied  with  a  set  of  ques- 
tions. When  I  say  *  Attention!'  hold  up  your 
pencils  in  your  right  hand  and  read  the  first 
questions.  When  I  say  'Go!'  write  the  an- 
swers. When  I  say  'Attention!'  hold  up  your 
pencils  again  and  read  the  second;  then  I'll 
say  'Go!'  again,  and  so  on.  .   .  .  'Attention!'  " 

The  men  read  the  first  question  on  the 
printed  slip.  They  see  the  figures  of  a  circle, 
a  square  and  a  triangle.  These  overlap. 
They  read  they  must  "make  a  cross  in  that 
part  of  the  circle  which  is  not  in  the  square ;  a 
check  in  that  part  of  the  square  which  is  out- 
side of  the  triangle;  a  dot  in  that  part  of  the 


262  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

triangle  which  is  inside  the  circle  but  not  in- 
side the  square."  Scarcely  enough  time  to  di- 
gest this,  then  "Go!"  Scarcely  enough  time 
to  make  the  markings  desired — two  seconds — 
then  "Attention!"  again. 

"What  the  hell  is  this  for?"  mutters  a  Pri- 
vate. 

"Silence!"  glares  the  instructor.  And  so 
for  an  hour  he  alternately  calls  "Attention!" 
and  "Go!"  while  the  men  wrestle  with  the  pro- 
voking things  the  printed  sheet  calls  for  and 
under  their  breaths  curse  the  learned  man  with 
the  glasses  for  not  giving  them  enough  time. 
Under  "Questions  to  Determine  Common 
Sense,"  they  find  the  following: 

"If  you  found  a  drunken  man  on  the  street 
and  he  struck  you,  what  would  you  do?" 
(Cross  out  the  solution  not  applicable.) 

1.  Take  him  home. 

2.  Knock  him  down. 

3.  Reason  with  him. 

4.  Turn  him  over  to  the  police. 

5.  Leave  him. 

One  "rookie"  disdained  all  the  solutions  and 
wrote  on  his  paper  these  thirsty  words:  "I'd 
ask  him  where  he  got  it." 

And  so  the  questions  of  the  "nut  pickers" 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  263 

went.  At  the  close  of  the  written  examina- 
tion, the  men  were  then  each  given  a  box  filled 
with  the  disassembled  parts  of  the  following: 
a  monkey  wrench,  a  coin  bank,  a  pants  hanger, 
an  electric  button,  a  door  lock,  a  bicycle  bell, 
and  a  mouse  trap ! 

"You  will  begin  work  on  these  articles  when 
I  say  'Go!' "  announced  the  psychologist. 
"You  will  cease  all  work  when  I  call  *  Atten- 
tion!'   Ready?  .   .   .  Go!" 

While  the  "rookies"  were  fumbling  with  the 
mouse  traps  and  all,  their  Captain  took  occa- 
sion to  question  the  psychologist  about  what  it 
all  meant. 

"Why,  Captain,"  said  that  learned  person, 
a  little  grieved,  "we  correct  every  paper.  We 
can  tell  you  by  the  result  of  this  examination 
what  men  will  be  most  valuable  to  you." 
The  devil  you  can!"  thought  the  Captain. 
By  these  tests  we  save  you  months  of 
work,"  went  on  the  psychologist  enthusiasti- 
cally. "We  obtain  observations  that  you 
would  never  get  in  a  year.  By  a  study  of  the 
examination  papers  we  can  tell  you  the  best 
place  for  every  man  in  your  command,  just 
how  his  mentality  fits  into  the  work  you  have 
planned  for  him.    You  will  find  our  report  a 


at 


264.  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

way  to  correct  mistakes  you  must  have  made." 

Bicycle  bells  that  "rookies"  had  feverishly 
put  together  tinkled  throughout  the  room; 
mouse  traps  clattered;  locks  turned.  Fever- 
ishly the  "rookies"  worked  on. 

"And  the  object  of  this — the  mouse  traps?" 
asked  the  Captain. 

"That,"  replied  the  psychologist,  "that  de- 
termines for  you  the  men  with  mechanical  in- 
stinct. Why,  only  the  other  day  we  found  a 
private  who  put  together  everything  in  four- 
teen minutes !  He  certainly  was  a  mechanical 
genius." 

Whereupon  the  Captain  set  himself  down 
to  give  it  a  tryout.  After  losing  the  springs 
of  the  coin  box  on  the  floor ;  after  twisting  hor- 
ribly a  lever  in  the  bicycle  bell;  after  cutting 
his  finger  on  a  piece  of  tin  in  the  mouse  traps, 
he  hurled  what  was  left  into  the  box  and 
sought  the  psychologist. 

"What  did  you  say  that  fellow  was  who  put 
together  that  bunch  of  junk  in  fourteen  min- 
utes?" 

"A  mechanical  genius,"  replied  the  psychol- 
ogist. 

"Rather,  a  damn  fool,"  sweetly  corrected 
the  Captain.    Later  he  sought  out  two  of  the 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  266! 

brainiest  specialists  of  the  Medical  Corps  who 
had  taken  the  test. 

"Doctor,"  the  Captain  asked  one  of  them — 
a  Major,  a  noted  eye  and  ear  specialist  of  New 
York,  "I  heard  you  took  that  psychological 
test.    What  mark  did  you  get?" 

"Forty-six  per  cent. — deficient,"  laughed 
the  Major;  "but  they  told  me  I'd  improve  on 
a  second  test." 

"Yes,"  chipped  in  another  specialist,  "and 
they  say  if  you  get  one  hundred  per  cent,  they 
put  you  down  as  a  nut." 

Yes,  in  those  early  days  of  the  National 
Army,  when  rifles  were  short,  the  men  an- 
swered such  psychological  questions  as,  "What 
product  is  99  44/100  per  cent,  pure?"  and  the 
learned  ones  got  surprising  answers  like 
"Lemp's  Beer." 

It  was  during  that  formative  period  of  the 
National  Army  that  laughs  tempered  the  rou- 
tine. The  salute — no  matter  how  precisely  ex- 
plained— was  forever  getting  the  "rookie"  in 
hot  water.  One  day  when  a  Brigadier  Gen- 
eral was  strolling  around  our  cantonment,  he 
met  a  soldier  who  failed  to  salute  him.  The 
General  stopped  him.  "How  long  have  you 
been  in  camp?" 


266  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

"Oh,  about  a  week,"  replied  the  Private 
chummily.  "How  long  have  you  been  down 
here?" 

The  General  gasped,  and  then  unburdened 
himself.  It  was  this  same  General  v/ho  at 
"Saturday  inspection"  made  a  point  of  unex- 
pectedly descending  upon  different  companies 
in  his  brigade  to  personally  inspect  them.  This 
habit  had  every  Captain  on  the  jump.  There 
was  a  Captain  in  the  regiment  whose  company 
had  been  one  of  the  last  to  receive  its  recruits. 
Thoroughly  undisciplined  as  they  were,  he 
awaited  with  misgivings  a  possible  visit  by  the 
General.  Nor  were  his  doubts  set  at  ease 
when  he  thought  how  he  had  overheard 
"rookies"  speak  of  him  as  "Bertie."  His  first 
name  they  had  somehow  discovered  to  be  Ber- 
tram. So  bright  and  early  Saturday  morning 
he  was  around  the  barracks,  seeing  to  it  that 
the  preparations  for  Inspection  were  made, 
that  the  floors  were  swept  underneath  the  cots, 
that  soiled  linen  was  out  of  the  way,  that  all 
extra  clothing  and  mess  kits  were  clean  and 
orderly  spread  out  on  the  bed-sacks.  Then 
ten  minutes  before  the  inspection  hour,  getting 
a  tip  from  the  Regimental  Adjutant  that  the 
General  had  his  company  marked  for  a  visit, 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  267 

he  ordered  them  all  out  in  the  barrack  yard. 
There  he  faced  them  and  earnestly  said: 

"Be  sure  all  your  buttons  are  buttoned;  that 
your  shirt  collars  are  turned  down;  that  your 
legging  laces  are  tucked  away;  that  there  are 
no  pins,  watch  chains,  ornaments  of  any  kind 
showing.  .  .  .  And,  oh,  yes,  one  other  thing: 
If  the  General  asks  you  your  Captain's  name, 
for  God's  sake,  it  is  Captain  Howe." 

The  General  came,  strutting  at  his  left  side 
and  ever  so  perceptibly  to  the  rear  his  Aide- 
de-Camp,  a  "shave-tail"  Lieutenant.  "  'Ten- 
shun!"  bawled  out  the  Captain.  His  "rookies" 
came  to  their  different  conceptions  of  what 
"Attention!"  was.  Spinning  round  with  an 
about-face,  the  Captain  saluted  the  General. 

"Captain,  I  will  inspect  your  company." 

With  sinking  heart,  the  Captain  ordered: 
"Open  ranks!  .   .   .  March!" 

Somehow  they  executed  the  movement,  were 
"dressed"  and  ordered  "front."  Then  accom- 
panied by  his  Aide-de-Camp,  the  General  be- 
gan his  Inspection,  the  Captain,  wishing  him- 
self in  No  JNIan's  Land,  accompanying  him. 

"Hm,"  remarked  the  General.  "Some  of 
them  need  hair  cuts."  Then  what  the  Captain 
dreaded  happened. 


268  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

"Private,"  and  the  General  addressed  him- 
self to  a  lanky  "rookie,"  "you  should  know  the 
names  of  all  your  officers.  Now  who  is  your 
Captain?" 

The   Captain  glared  at  the  rookie.     The 

rookie  became  flustered.     "Captain ,"  he 

thought.    "Captain What  in  hell  did  he 

say  his  name  was?" 

"Come,  Private,"  said  the  General  sharply. 
"What  is  your  Captain's  name?" 

"Bertie,"  exploded  the  thoroughly  rattled 
Private. 

"Howe,  you  idiot,"  hissed  the  Captain;  "my 
name  is  Captain  Howe!" 

Greatly  surprised,  the  General  turned  to 
the  discomfited  officer.  "Captain  Howe,  this 
will  never  do — such  familiarity  with  your  men. 
Bertie,  indeed!"  And  the  Aide-de-Camp  who 
had  led  cotillions  looked  grieved  to  his  soul. 
But  the  Captain's  laugh  was  to  come.  Far- 
ther down  the  line,  the  General  questioned  a 
fox-faced  little  "rookie." 

"In  the  army,"  the  General  said  to  him,  "we 
have  Saturday  Inspection.  It  is  prescribed  by 
Army  Regulations.  Every  soldier  must  be 
neat  and  clean,  must  be  ready  to  be  inspected. 
Now  why,  Private,"  concluded  the  General, 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  269 


"do  you  suppose  that  is  ?  What  is  the  purpose 
of  Saturday  inspection?'* 

In  terror,  the  Captain  waited  for  his  rookie's 
answer. 

"I'll  tell  you  how  it  is.  General,"  he  said 
confidentially,  "in  civil  life  the  boss  gives  you 
the  once  over  every  morning ;  sees  if  your  shoes 
are  cleaned,  and  all  that.  But  in  the  army 
with  their  Saturday  inspection  I  guess  they 
want  to  check  up  that  the  army  is  clean  one 
day  out  of  seven." 

The  Captain  froze  the  grin  that  flickered  on 
his  lips.  Like  many  officers,  he  judged  the 
idea  of  Saturday  Inspection  a  pernicious  one. 
Why  not  daily  inspections  ?  He  saw  the  Gen- 
eral gulp  once  or  twice;  he  saw  a  gleam  in  the 
rookie's  eye.  Then  without  a  word  the  Gen- 
eral passed  on.  He  was  big  enough  to  see  the 
rookie  had  him. 

Now  as  was  originally  pointed  out  by  Shaw, 
I  believe,  and  it  has  been  made  the  theme  of  a 
score  of  short  stories,  "an  Irishman  can  save 
every  country  but  his  own."  We  have  him  in 
the  National  Army  by  the  thousand,  the  type 
that  believes  Columbus  must  have  had  Irish 
blood  in  him  and — whist! — Napoleon  was  a 
"good  Harp"  who  changed  his  name — may  the 


270  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

Saint  pity  him !  There  is  such  a  wild,  fighting 
Irishman  in  the  3 — th  Infantry  at  Camp  Dix. 
He  has  his  own  story  of  the  war,  and  he  never 
wearies  of  telling  it.  He  blarneyed  his  way 
into  the  Captain's  office,  his  first  day  in  camp, 
and  poured  it  into  his  ears.    I  have  heard  it : 

"Whin  th'  Dutchmen  bate  little  Belgium — 
bad  cess  to  thim!"  Private  Hogan  invariably 
begins,  "I  run  round  t'  Schweitzer's  saloon 
wit'  me  pals  Casey  an'  Dugan,  and  offers  t' 
beat  him  up,  th'  dirty  haythen  that  he  be. 
*  Schweitzer,'  sez  I,  'th'  Kaiser's  a  dirthy  black 
Protestant.' 

"  'Sure,'  sez  Schweitzer,  as  he  took  me 
money  fer  th'  beer. 

"  'Schweitzer,'  sez  I,  'I  am  an  Irishman,  a 
good  one,  mind  ye,  from  th'  South  o'  Ireland, 
one  wit'  no  Protestant  relations,  and  I  can  lick 
twinty  Dutchmen.' 

"  'Sure,'  sez  Schweitzer,  'und  vhy  doan't 
you  try  id?' 

"So  I  chucks  th'  beer  in  his  face  and  was 
just  about  t'  jump  on  his  big  Dutch  belly  whin 
th'  cop  comes  an'  saves  Germany.  Dennie 
Murphy  gets  th'  judge  t'  let  me  off  easy  an' 
sez  if  I  want  t'  fight  so  much  t'  go  t'  Canada." 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  271 

So  with  Casey  and  Dugan,  his  pals,  Private 
Hogan  in  1914  turned  up  in  Montreal. 

"I  want  t'  fight  th'  Dutchmen,"  he  told  the 
Recruiting  Sergeant.  "Casey  an'  Dugan,  two 
fine  laddie  bucks,  come  up  wit'  me,  too." 

Private  Hogan  said  they  grabbed  him,  that 
he  passed  the  Medical  Examination  with  fly- 
ing colors  and  was  passed  on  to  an  officer  to 
be  sworn  in. 

"Casey  they  chucked  out,"  he  says;  "his 
lungs  wuz  bad.  Dugan,  the  dirthy  black- 
guard, took  the  oath!"  and  he  pauses  impres- 
sively. 

You  ask,  "Why  were  you  sore  at  Dugan? 
Didn't  you  go  up  to  take  the  oath  too?" 

That  is  Private  Hogan's  meat. 

"They  got  me  in  a  room,"  he  boils,  "wit'  an 
officer  sittin'  at  a  table,  wit'  a  picture  o'  th' 
King  over  his  head.  Th'  officer  sez  to  me: 
^Repeat  after  me,  Hogan:  I  do  swear  alle- 
giance to  His  IMajesty  the  King.  Right  there 
I  called  a  halt.  'And  I'm  t'  let  me  American 
citizenship  slip  up?'  I  asked  th'  officer. 

"  *Sure,'  he  had  th'  gall  t'  tell  me.  I  looked 
him  in  th'  ej^e.  'I'll  be  damned  if  I  swear  me- 
self  t'  become  no  British  subject.  Me  Mother 
Macliree  t' would  kill  her.' 


272  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

"So  th'  deal  wuz  off.  I  beat  it  back  to  Jer- 
sey City.  A  year  later  I  meet  Dugan.  He 
wuz  walkin'  on  a  cane.  He  had  been  a  fine 
broth  o'  a  lad.  Now  he  looked  like  a  ghost,  a 
miserable  hundred  and  tin  pounds.  *Pwhat 
th'  divil,  Dugan,'  sez  I,  'an'  p what's  come  over 
ye?'  And  sez  Dugan  t'  me:  'Mike,  they  put 
me  in  th'  Princess  Pats  an'  at  Wipers  th' 
Dutchmen  gassed  th'  tripe  out  o'  me.'  .  .  . 
Well  it  was  comin'  t'  Dugan  fer  lettin' 
his  American  allegiance  slip  an'  becomin'  a 
damned  British  subject." 

And  like  Private  Hogan's  Captain  you  cau- 
tion him  again: 

"You  must  not  speak  that  way  about  the 
English.  They  are  our  Allies.  They  are  fight- 
ing bravely." 

But  Mike  is  obdurate. 

"Sure  it  be  th'  Irish  fightin'  for  thim.  Ain't 
Gineral  Haig  Irish?' 

"No ;  he  is  Scotch.' 

"No,  Captain,"  pleaded  Mike;  "Gineral 
Haig  a  dirthy  black  Scotch  Protestant? 
Doan't  say  that,  please.  Captain." 

"It's  true,  Mike.  The  Scotch,  English,  and 
Welsh  are  doing  their  part  as  well  as  the 
Irish." 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  273 

And  Mike  scratched  his  head.  "WiF,  they 
didn't  get  me  t'  change  t'  no  Britisher,  them 
Canadians — bad  luck  t'  them." 

"Private  Hogan,"  the  Captain  said  stern- 
ly, "I  order  you  never  to  speak  with  disrespect 
of  any  of  our  Allies." 

"Yis,  sir,"  replied  Private  Ilogan;  and 
alone  in  a  squad  room  he'll  again  hold  forth  to 
any  one  who  will  listen  to  him. 

One  does  not  intend  to  suggest  that  Private 
Mike  Hogan  is  a  composite  of  those  of  Irish 
descent  in  the  National  Army ;  but  there  is  his 
type,  victims  of  street  corner  orators  and  revo- 
lutionary Irish  newspapers  printed  in  our 
country.  They  will  suffer  untold  hardships 
for  America ;  but  when  they  think  of  England 
they  cannot  think  coherently.  Yet,  on  the  bat- 
tle line  they  would  die  for  England,  too,  these 
fine,  brave,  chivalrous  people  whose  love  for 
Erin  never  dies,  for  whom  destiny  has  written 
that  they  shall  fight  under  all  flags  but  the 
green.  .  .  .  To  every  American  in  the  Nation- 
al Army  who  believes  the  story  of  the  snakes — 
a  toast! 

Each  regiment  having  its  own  staff  of  phy- 
sicians, the  cases  of  those  whose  acceptance 
into  the  army,  when  physically  doubtful,  are 


274  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

examined  into  there.  There  was  a  recruit — 
who  shall  be  known  as  Hawkins — who  came  to 
us  from  a  Syracuse  Exemption  Board.  Upon 
giving  over  the  Form  14,  the  report  of  the 
medical  examination,  made  by  the  Local 
Board,  we  noticed  that  Recruit  Hawkins  had 
claimed  exemption  on  the  grounds  that  he  was 
"near-sighted."  We  asked  him  about  it.  Yes, 
he  had  great  trouble  with  his  eyes.  He  was 
near  sighted.  He  wrote  a  note  to  the  Regi- 
mental Surgeon  and  sent  over  Recruit  Haw- 
kins to  the  Infirmary  for  a  re-examination. 
Our  First  Sergeant  went  with  him.  Carefully 
the  doctor  tested  his  eyes.  Long  suspicious  of 
this  rookie,  the  Sergeant  watched  him  closely 
throughout  the  examination. 

"Sergeant,"  the  doctor  called,  "this  man  is 
all  right.  Nothing  the  matter  with  his  eyes. 
Take  this  message  to  your  Captain,"  and  the 
doctor  handed  him  his  report. 

"Come  along.  Recruit  Hawkins,"  said  the 
Sergeant.    "You  stay." 

"But  I'm  near-sighted,"  whined  the  rookie. 

"You  don't  say  so!"  grinned  the  Sergeant. 
"Well,  just  because  you  are  near  sighted  we're 
always  going  to  put  you  in  a  first-line  trench 
so  you'll  be  sure  and  see  the  enemy.    See?" 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  275 

And  lo !  the  rookie's  eyes  were  cured  and  he 
is  to-day  quite  well. 

The  drivers  of  jitneys  infesting  the  National 
Army  cantonments  charged  the  soldiers  out- 
rageous prices  to  "go  to  town,"  refused  to  stop 
for  those  who  were  alone,  always  wanting 
"parties" ;  in  short,  made  themselves  complete- 
ly annoying.  In  most  of  the  cantonments  the 
military  authorities  stood  it  for  about  a  week 
and  then  slapped  restrictions  on  the  whole 
grafting  crew.  What  these  orders  were  re- 
garding jitneys,  the  Captains  passed  on  to 
their  men. 

"No  jitney  driver,"  a  Captain  told  his  men, 
"is  allowed  to  charge  more  than  fifteen  cents 
for  any  ride  anywhere  inside  the  limits  of  the 
cantonment.  If  a  jitney  refuses  to  take  you 
at  that  price,  get  its  number  and  we'll  have  it 
barred  from  the  camp.  If  a  jitney  with  empty 
seats  refuses  to  take  you  as  a  passenger — it  is 
their  practice  to  try  and  pick  up  soldiers  in 
twos  and  threes,  so  as  to  get  their  load  quickly 
— you  have  a  right  to  protest  and  to  make  that 
driver  accept  you." 

"Beefy"  Flanders,  a  rookie,  pondered  over 
this.  He  had  an  idea  that  the  jitneys  were 
turning  him  down  because,  as  the  fellows  said. 


276  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

"he  took  up  too  much  room."  He  had  a  griev- 
ance against  jitney  drivers,  Beefy  Flanders 
had — against  the  whole  tribe  of  gasolene  ban- 
ditti. 

Picture  him  then  on  a  Saturday,  "Pass 
Day,"  struggling  through  the  mud  and  rain 
to  the  railroad  station.  He  heard  a  jitney.  It 
was  the  third  one  he  had  heard  that  soaking, 
pelting  noon  hour;  the  other  two  had  whizzed 
past  him  in  the  rain,  flicking  mud  upon  him  as 
they  passed.  But  this  jitney  would  not  get  by 
— not  if  Beefy  knew  it.  Planting  himself 
squarely  in  the  road,  his  soaked  suitcase  like  a 
parapet  before  him,  the  rain  dripping  from 
his  campaign  hat,  he  awaited  the  car's  ap- 
proach— a  pot-bellied  Colossus,  defiant.  A 
horn  honked  a  warning  at  him  to  get  out  of 
the  way.  Beefy  peered  through  the  rain.  .  .  . 
No,  the  seat  beside  the  driver  was  vacant. 
'.  .  .  The  rear  seat  seemed  full.  Too  bad;  but 
he'd  ride  with  the  driver.  .  .  .  The  car,  show- 
ing no  sign  of  stopping,  bore  down  on  him. 
The  horn  blew  angrily.  Beefy  felt  the  rain 
beating  on  his  face.  .  .  .  No,  he'd  be  damned 
if  he'd  walk  any  farther.  .  .  .  "Stop!"  he 
yelled.    "Stop!" 

The  driver  threw  on  his  emergency,  and  the 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  277 

light  car — it  looked  like  a  "flivver" — skidded 
in  the  mud. 

"Wow!"  shouted  Beefy,  as  the  ear  spun 
round  on  the  road.  "That's  what  you  get  for 
trying  to  pass  me  up." 

Picking  up  his  suitcase,  he  took  his  time 
about  going  to  the  point  where  the  chauffeur 
had  finally  brought  the  car  to  a  snorting  stand- 
still. 

"Are  you  crazy?"  asked  the  driver,  as  Beefy 
unlatched  the  waterproof  curtains  and  heavily 
deposited  himself  in  the  seat  beside  the  steer- 
ing wheel.  "What  do  you  mean  by  stopping 
this  car  and  climbing  in?" 

"Is  that  so?"  said  Beefy,  fishing  in  his  wet 
clothes  for  a  cigarette.  "Huh!  Since  when 
are  jitney  drivers  wearing  soldiers'  overcoats 
and  hats?  You  take  them  off  or  I'll  report 
you  to  the  military  police.  My  Captain  said 
I  was  to  do  that." 

From  the  back  seat  Beefy  heard  a  snicker. 

"Hullo,  fellers!  Going  home?  Hell  of  a 
day,  ain't  it?" 

"Shut  up,  you  fool;  that's  Brigadier  Gen- 
eral X .    This  is  his  car!" 

"My  God,"  panted  Beefy;  and  then,  in 
alarm;    "Let  me  out!" 


278  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

But  a  voice  from  the  back  seat  was  speak- 
ing.   Beefy  heard  a  chuckle. 

"Why,  Colonel,"  some  one  was  saying,  "that 
Private  stopped  us  because  he  thought  this  car 
was  a  jitney.  I  told  the  Quartermaster  that 
these  cars  they  were  issuing  to  Brigadier  Gen- 
erals looked  like  damned  flivvers."  And  so 
Beefy  rode  with  his  General. 


CHAPTER   XIII 


"the  magic  of  mars" 


We  call  our  country  the  "melting  pot."  Its 
metropolis  has  been  called  the  "garbage  can." 
tWe  have  thought  that  the  sturdy  and  adven- 
turous of  our  emigrants  have  gone  striding  out 
from  the  steamship  piers  of  New  York  into 
the  rumble  of  our  nation,  into  wide  spaces  of 
harvest  lands,  cattle  ranges,  or  with  pick  and 
shovel  have  made  railways  possible.  But  New 
.York — ah,  that  was  the  refuse,  the  "scum  of 
Europe" !  New  York,  with  its  sweat  shops,  its 
East  Side,  its  soap-box  orators,  its  impudent 
youth  of  the  proletariat  and  bourgeoisie  alike 
• — soldiers  out  of  that  stuff?  Absurd! 

Out  near  the  end  of  Long  Island,  cut  from 
a  straggly  woodland,  a  stumpy  place  of  sandy 
roads  and  drab  backgrounds — there  one  finds 
Camp  Upton.  There  one  finds  the  East  Side, 
the  "scum  of  Europe";  for  there  New  York 
has   sent  its   quota  to  the   National   Army. 

279 


280  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

There  one  sees  the  material  of  which  the  skep- 
tics said  it  would  be  impossible  to  transform 
into  soldiers.  Housed  in  its  rows  and  rows  of 
two-story  barracks  one  discovers:  the  Five 
Points  Gang,  Sing  Tong  of  "Bloody  Angle," 
Isidore  Cohen  of  Rivington  Street,  T.  Travers 
Ashton,  the  artist,  of  Washington  Square 
South,  and  exquisite  dabbler  in  anarchy  on  the 
side;  there  one  finds  Willie  Wisenheimer  of 
the  motion  picture  offices  and  Johnny  JSIims 
who  takes  his  girl  every  Saturday  to  see  a 
"show";  and  there,  too,  one  finds  Powers,  the 
son  of  the  financier. 

If  you  know  intimately  your  New  York, 
you  know  these  types  and  the  things  they 
stood  for.  You  know  that  their  lives  moved 
on  certain  defined  lines  like  toys  on  a  string — 
the  "beat  of  a  cop,"  the  grace  of  a  cheap  poli- 
tician, the  pursuit  of  gold,  the  mandates  of 
some  new  and  neurotic  philosopher,  the  gossip 
of  the  Rialto,  the  subway  to  and  from  work* 
or  whether  to  go  to  this  or  that  dance.  Of  na- 
tional consciousness  most  of  them  had  none. 
Legally  they  were  citizens;  spiritually  they 
were  not.  A  sense  of  obligation  to  this  coun- 
try? That  was  a  void.  .  .  .  But  all  this  was 
before  they  were  called  to  the  colors,  before 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  281 

there    was    cast    upon   them    the    Magic    of 
Mars.  .   .   . 


Where  sons  of  God  yield  up  their  breath 
There  is  no  gain  except  hy  loss/' 


In  one  of  those  colorless  rooms  in  the  brick 
building  on  the  Konigs  Platz  of  Berlin,  where 
sits  the  Supplementary  General  Staff  of  the 
enemy's  War  Machine,  I,  in  1914,  with  other 
correspondents  heard  the  half-dead  General 
von  Moltke  say  these  words: 

"War  is  a  biological  necessity.  Too  long  a 
period  of  peace  degenerates  a  nation.  War 
purifies  it.  War  purges  it  of  the  degenerate 
blood.    War  is  the  Great  Cleanser." 

Now  that  is  a  sample  of  the  pap  that  the 
masters  of  modern  Germany  instilled  into 
their  people  for  forty  years.  We  as  a  people 
do  not  believe  so  materialistically  that  "war  is 
a  biological  necessity."  Nor  does  our  Presi- 
dent; nor  our  army  and  navy  leaders.  Our 
spirit  is  keyed  higher;  ours  is  a  war  against 
war — a  holy  strife  to  rid  the  world  of  the 
Hohenzollern's  medievalism,  the  influences  of 
which  have  caused  many  wars.  No;  war  is 
not  a  purifier,  but — if  I  may  repeat. 


282  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 


Where  sons  of  God  yield  up  their  breath 
There  is  no  gain  except  by  loss/' 


We  are  yielding  up  our  breath;  we  are 
yielding  up  our  lives.  What  is  our  gain?  It 
has  taken  war  to  make  us  a  nation.  In  sixteen 
cantonments  of  our  National  Army  hundreds 
of  thousands  of  men  are  finding  America. 
Through  them,  millions  of  their  relatives  and 
friends  are  finding  America.  Old  Mars,  and 
Mars  alone,  possessed  the  magic  to  make  the 
melting  pot  really  melt  everything.  The 'Na- 
tional Army  is  leading  us  to  America.  .  .  . 
The  New  York  gangster,  what  good  is  he? 
Melodramas  sniveled  him  to  our  sympathy  or 
in  the  newspapers  we  read  the  cold  facts  of  his 
killings.  A  creature  of  our  social  system,  what 
good  was  he  to  America?  Come  with  me  into 
one  of  the  big,  clean  examining  rooms  of  Camp 
Upton.  A  board  of  Army  physicians  is  sit- 
ting upon  the  case  of  Recruit  Miggs  (John 
L.).  They  conclude  that  the  Exemption 
Board  which  sent  him  to  camp  made  a  mistake. 
His  heart  fails  to  come  up  to  army  require- 
ments. They  tell  Recruit  Miggs  that  he  will 
be  rejected  and  sent  back  to  his  home. 

See  him  there  over  in  the  corner?     That 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  283 

wide-shouldered  man  with  the  thin  legs  and 
the  arms  dangling  down  like  a  gorilla's ;  coarse 
black  hair  plastered  down  over  a  low,  bulging 
forehead;  still  in  civilian  clothes,  a  checkered 
cap  twirling  uneasily  in  his  gnarled  hands. 

"I  got  ter  go  back,  Doc?"  he  asks. 

"Yes,  Recruit  Miggs.  We  find  a  decided 
indication  of  cardiac." 

Gloom  settles  in  the  bloodshot  eyes  of  Gun- 
man Miggs. 

"Can't  ye  fix  a  guy  up?"  he  begs.  "I  don't 
want  ter  go  back.  Doctor,  on  the  level.  I'll 
give  yer  the  whole  thing  straight.  Doctor. 
When  I  got  wise  they'd  draft  me,  I  beat  it; 
but  the  cops  nailed  me.  One  of  our  gang  once 
went  broke.  His  gal  left  him  and  he  joined 
the  army.  He  come  back  once  and  wised  us 
that  all  he  did  was  t'  wash  the  ofiicers'  dishes. 
That  queered  the  army  with  me.  But  when  I 
come  down  here,  I  doped  him  for  a  liar.  It's 
been  fine  here,  Doc.  I  got  a  square  deal.  No 
cops  around.  I  seen  the  boys  with  the  knives 
on  their  guns  t'other  day  sticking  'em  into 
bags.  I  liked  that.  I  liked  to  shove  one  into 
a  Dutchman's  belly.  A  Dutchman  double- 
crossed  me  once,  a  cop  he  was,  what  had  a  girl 
working  for  him.     I  can  kill  Dutchmen.     I 


284  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

want  ter  kill  'em.  If  yer  send  me  back  to  New 
York,  th'  gang'll  kid  me.  The  boys'll  say  I 
must  be  a  cheese  if  th'  army  cans  me.  Then, 
Doc,  that  gal  o'  mine'll  only  get  me  doping 
again.  I'll  plug  a  guy  some  day  when  I'm 
half  nuts  and  I'll  get  th'  chair.  Here  I  can 
live  decent  and  be  away  from  the  cops.  The 
officers  make  a  guy  feel  he's  somebody.  I'll 
kill  Germans,  bunches  of  the  bastards!" 

The  Army  doctors  conferred.  "I  think  he'd 
make  good,"  one  said.  Remarked  another:  "I 
think,  Doctor,  that  with  proper  work,  his  heart 
would  stand  it." 

The  voice  of  the  gunman  interrupted  them: 
"Please,  Doc,  for  God's  sake,  let  me  stay! 
It's  me  one  chanst." 

The  Medical  Captain  wheeled  on  him. 
"You  stay.  Recruit  Miggs!  Go  back  to  your 
barracks." 

Time  passed.  September,  then  autumn 
scuffled  out  with  dying  feet ;  it  was  November. 
New  recruits  were  pouring  into  Camp  Upton. 
As  quickly  as  they  were  accepted  by  the  army 
doctors,  their  Captains  turned  them  over  in 
fours  and  eights  to  Non-commissioned  officers, 
the  now  blase  veterans  of  three  months — Sep- 
tember's recruits  who  had  already  made  good. 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  23: 

In  the  barrack  yard  of  the  3 —  Infantry  one 
such  group  faced  a  natty,  businesslike  Cor- 
poral. In  his  spotless,  trim-fitting  uniform  it 
was  hard  to  recognize  in  him  the  East  Side 
gunman,  the  Recruit  Miggs,  who  had  pleaded 
for  "a  chanst"  and  gotten  it, 

"Now,  men,"  said  Corporal  Miggs;  he  no 
longer  used  "guys,"  "at  the  command  Right 
Hand — Salute!  do  what  I  do  now,"  and  smart- 
ly the  old  gunman  snapped  up  his  hand  to  the 
brim  of  his  hat.    "Got  it,  men?" 

Fingers  close  together,  arm  in  a  straight 
line,  and  up  came  four  arms,  and  out  burst  the 
eloquence  of  Corporal"  Miggs. 

"Foist  man!  Swing  yer  elbow  around  more 
t'  th'  front.  .  .  .  Second  man!  Say,  you've 
been  a  soldier  before!" 

The  recruit,  a  fair-haired,  blue-eyed  yo.uth, 
denied  this. 

Say,  quit  yer  kiddin'!"  admonished  Miggs, 
and  let  me  hand  yer  a  tip:    don't  lie  in  the 
army.    Now,  what's  yer  name?" 

The  recruit  flushed  and  did  not  reply. 

"What's  yer  name?"  roared  Miggs;  he  was 
going  to  add,  "or  I'll  plant  you  one,"  but  re- 
membered the  Captain's  caution  about  "plant- 
ing" in  time. 


286  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

The  blond  youth  replied:  "Herman 
Schwartz." 

"Hey?"  demanded  Miggs. 

"Herman  Schwartz." 

"A  Dutchman,  hey?"  and  Miggs  deliber- 
ated whether  to  hand  him  one  or  not,  just  for 
luck. 

"I'm  not  a  Dutchman,  sir.  I'm  an  Ameri- 
can." 

That  "sir"  sounded  good  to  Miggs.  He 
smiled  to  himself;  if  the  gang  could  only  see 
him  now! 

"An  American,  yer  say,"  he  said,  enjoying 

his  power;  "but  yer  served  in  an  army.     Yer 

didn't  learn  to  salute  like  that  making  beer, 
did  ye?" 

The  German  boy  blushed  and  hung  his  head. 
"I  served  my  time  in  the  German  Army,"  he 
admitted.  "My  brother  is  in  it  now.  I  don't 
want  to  fight  my  own  family." 

Yer  don't,  hey?"  observed  Miggs  grandly. 
Then  Squad  .  .  .  'Ten-shun!  Recruit 
Schwartz,  youse  come  in  an'  see  the  Captain 
wit'  me.  .   .   .  Squad  .   .   .  Dismissed^ 

Businesslike?  Good  judgment?  Yes;  the 
National  Army  did  that  in  three  months,  re- 
claimed one  of  the  East  Side's  gunmen,  made 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  287 

a  genuine  citizen  of  what  used  to  be  jetsam  but 
which  as  a  "citizen"  could  vote. 

The  prophylactics  against  typhoid  and 
para-typhoid  threw  panic  into  the  youth  of 
Grand  Street,  transported  to  Camp  Upton. 
An  Artillery  Captain  there  told  me  Ikey 
Cohen,  quite  white  and  worried,  came  into  his 
ofBce.    Ikey  had  just  been  jabbed  in  the  arm. 

*'0i.  Captain.    I'm  seeck!" 

"Go  out  and  drill,"  directed  the  Captain; 
it'll  do  you  good." 

But  I'm  seeck,  Captaine — such  a  headache 
— ^mit  der  needle  in  der  arm — oi!" 

And  so  Grand  Street  in  the  3 — th  Field  Ar- 
tillery came  to  sing  a  song  at  Upton.  To  the 
tune  of  In  My  Harem,  they  chanted ; 

"Oi  the  needle,  the  needle. 
The  Prophylactic  needle! 
Oh,  my  arm  don't  have  a  minute 
The  needle  isn't  in  it ! 
Paratyphoid;  oi,  oi,  typhoid; 
Captain,  I'm  so  seeck! 
All  they  do  is  punch  me  full  of  holes 
All  through  the  week. 
Oi,  the  needle,  the  needle. 
The  Prophylactic  needle ! 
I  should  be  in  bed, 
But  I  have  to  work  instead ; 
The  Captain  tells  me  it's  good  for  me." 


i288  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

For  a  time,  in  the  early  days,  Upton  housed 
a  battalion  of  the  15th  Infantry,  New  York 
National  Guard — negro  troops.  The  colored 
boys  were  sent  to  the  cantonment  to  act  as 
sentries  until  the  drafted  rookies  were  soldiers 
enough  to  take  over  guard  duty.  One  night, 
returning  to  Upton  from  a  week-end  in  New 
[York,  an  Artillery  Captain  saw  one  of  the 
negro  privates  confronting  an  Irishman  who 
[Worked  on  barrack  construction. 

"Say,  looka  yere,"  exclaimed  the  negro,  "I's 
tired  mos'  t'  death  tellin'  yo'  fellahs  t'  turn  ohf 
dat  water  when  yo'  quits  work.  .  .  .  Cohp'ral 
ob  der  guard!" 

The  Irishman  mumbled  something. 

"What's  dat  yo'  sayin'  dere,  fellah?  Ah's 
got  a  gun.  Ah  has.  .  .  .  Cohp'ral  ob  der 
guard!" 

Ten  minutes,  half  an  hour  passed  with  the 
Irishman  glowering  at  the  negro's  rifle,  with 
never  a  word  from  the  Corporal  of  the  guard. 
In  disgust,  the  colored  private  turned  to  his 

prisoner : 

"Say,  fellah.  Ah  guess  der  Cohp'ral's  got  a 
li'l'  bottle  o'  gin  somewheres.  Gwan,  now,  yo' 
clear  outer  yere!  .  .  .  What's  dat  yo'  said? 
[Yo'll  bust  mah  face!  .    .    .   Cohp'ral  ob  der 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  289 

guard!"  No  response;  then:  "Gwan,  man; 
Ah  haven't  time  t'  arrest  yo'.  Gwan  'long. 
Doan't  bother  me!"  And  off  stalked  the  sen- 
try, crooning  to  himself  a  song. 

It  was  at  Upton  that  they  had  a  "bull  pen." 
The  commander  of  the  negroes  had  a  deep  pit 
dug  in  the  ground;  on  the  bottom  a  tent 
was  pitched,  around  the  top  barbed  wire  was 
strung.  That  was  the  "guardhouse."  In 
there  a  prisoner  "stayed  put."  Now  near  the 
**bull  pen"  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  pitched  a  circus 
tent,  a  recreation  place  for  the  negro  regiment. 
One  night  they  brought  a  piano  to  the 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  tent  and  some  one  played.  At 
once  from  the  "bull  pen"  there  issued  a  happy 
melody  of  song.  The  ten  negro  prisoners 
down  there  began  turkey  trotting  as  they 
sang,  and  above  them,  fringing  the  barbed 
wire,  half  the  battalion  grouped  itself,  while 
their  comrades  in  the  "bull  pen"  led  the  song. 
A  strange  crew?    They'd  sing  in  hell. 

It  is  at  Upton  that  one  is  brought  face  to 
face  with  that  fact  which  stares  at  one  from 
every  National  Army  cantonment.  Whole- 
heartedly most  of  our  newspapers  have  sup- 
ported the  war.  To  be  sure,  there  are  editorial 
writers  who  should  be  General  Staff  Chiefs,  or 


290  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

Ordnance  Chiefs,  or  Quartermaster  Chiefs. 
There  are  writers  born  to  be  Secretaries  of 
State  and  others  Generals  in  the  field.  Dur- 
ing the  war  there  will  be  much  criticism  that 
will  be  hysterical ;  much  irresponsibility ;  much 
toying  with  men's  reputations  with  pen  and 
ink;  but  as  a  nation  we  must  abide  with  that. 
It  is  a  price  we  pay  for  the  freedom  of  the 
press,  and  almost  no  price  seems  too  high  for 
that.  It  is  flesh  and  blood  of  democracy.  Yet 
we  could  be  more  cautious,  less  irresponsible. 

Now  there  was  one  company  at  Camp  Up- 
ton which  drew  its  quota  from  the  upper  West 
Side  of  New  York  City.  Some  of  the  men 
were  high  school  graduates;  others  college 
graduates,  others  shrewd  graduates  of  New 
York  City  business.  Most  of  them  in  civilian 
life  had  disliked  the  army.  In  the  army  one 
had  to  be  obedient;  they  rarely  obeyed  their 
parents.  In  the  army  one's  superior  officer, 
was  a  man  upon  whose  decisions  they  should 
rely  and  whose  orders  they  should  unhesitat- 
ingly obey.  In  civilian  life,  the  man  in  the  job 
above  them  was  generally  "a  dub  who  had 
gotten  around  the  boss"  and  whom  they  fre- 
quently tried  to  dig  pitfalls  for.  It  is  a  cyni- 
cism of  New  York  business  that  a  man  spends 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  291 

one  quarter  of  his  time  on  his  job  and  three 
quarters  trying  to  scheme  out  a  way  to  get  the 
job  of  the  man  above  him.  Camp  Upton 
drew  its  quota  of  these  men.  Will  they  make 
soldiers,  these  sons  of  a  shallow  and  shrewd 
bourgeoisie,  with  their  suspicion  of  authority, 
these  utterly  undisciplined  lives?    Let  us  see. 

On  Headquarters  Hill  at  Upton,  a  tall 
white  flag  pole  stands  stark,  and  from  its  tip 
the  flag  flies  brilliantly  against  the  brief  gray 
of  a  winter  twilight.  After  the  bugles  have 
blown  the  "Assembly"  for  "Retreat,"  stand  in 
front  of  army  barracks  and  watch.  Linen 
salesmen,  box  office  men,  the  darling  of  the 
skating  rink  girls,  they're  all  there.  But 
they've  lost  the  debutante  slouch;  they  look 
you  steadily  in  the  eye;  they  obey  promptly; 
they  have  respect  for  all  their  officers;  they 
almost  love  their  Captain. 

Come  into  their  barracks  at  night.  Talk  to 
Jack,  who  was  called  to  the  colors  just  in  the 
nick  of  time  to  save  him  being  spoiled  by  the 
womenfolk  of  New  York's  society  fringes.  A 
good-looking  chap,  he  jumps  up  from  his 
bunk,  calling  Attention  to  the  whole  squad 
room  as  he  spies  the  officer  with  you. 

"How  are  you  getting  along,  Private  Cum- 


292  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

mings  ?"  the  officer  asks  him,  "and  what  do  you 
think  of  the  war?" 

"Private  Cummings  thanks  the  Captain,  sir. 
He  never  thought  much  about  the  Kaiser  one 
way  or  the  other.  But  since  he's  been  here,  sir, 
he's  getting  madder  about  the  Kaiser  every 
day." 

The  Captain  notices  a  textbook  on  the  bunk 
and  picks  it  up.  "Officer's  Manual,"  the  Cap- 
tain reads  aloud.    "What's  this — studying?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  replies  Private  Cummings;  "the 
Captain  announced  he  would  recommend  some 
men  from  the  company  for  the  next  officers' 
training  camp,  and  if  one  wants  to  have  a 
chance  at  it,  one  must  study." 

"Good!"  exclaimed  the  Captain.  "Keep 
at  it." 

And  Jack  Cummings,  who  had  trifled 
through  high  school,  buried  himself  until  taps 
in  his  book  of  military  lore.  In  another  part 
of  the  barracks  you  find  a  group  of  men  study- 
ing French.  This  is  a  time  after  hours  when 
the  men  get  the  idea  that  their  officers  are 
human. 

"I  advise  you  men,"  remarked  the  Captain, 
"to  study  French  at  every  opportunity.  When 
the   Regulars   went   over   last   summer   they 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  293 

didn't  know  French.  The  soldiers  picked  up 
the  word,  'Ouif  meaning  'Yes,'  and  said  'Oui' 
to  everything.  One  day  in  a  village  where  a 
company  was  billeted  a  pretty  girl  came  up  to 
a  soldier  and  asked  him  something  in  French. 
He  couldn't  understand,  but  replied  'Out/  In- 
stantly she  threw  both  arms  around  his  neck 
and  began  kissing  him.  He  thought  her  crazy 
and  shouted  in  alarm.  He  struggled  with  her, 
and  finally  broke  her  hold  on  his  neck.  A  po- 
liceman came  up ;  she  poured  out  her  story  to 
him  in  French,  and  our  bewildered  comrade 
was  taken  off  to  jail.  In  court  it  developed 
that  in  French  she  had  asked  him  to  marry 
her.  He  replied  'Oui^ — 'Yes.'  She  had  em- 
braced him,  he  had  repulsed  her,  shaming  her 
in  the  eyes  of  the  village.  So  unless  you  want 
a  flock  of  breach  of  promise  suits,  men,  learn 
to  speak  French." 

Or  visit  another  part  of  the  barracks  and 
you'll  see  the  former  lace  salesman  busying 
about  with  pad  and  pencil,  buttonholing  his 
comrades,  taking  down  subscriptions  for  a 
Company  talking  machine  and  records.  And 
as  you  leave,  what  impression  have  you? 
Brotherhood!  War  has  drawn  them  all  to- 
gether, given  them  a  common  interest — their 


294,  ;OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

country,  and  with  it  they're  pledged  to  a  com- 
mon goal :  the  defeat  of  the  enemy — Imperial 
Germany. 

Yes,  the  National  Army  is  the  Melting  Pot. 
We  used  to  think  of  the  melting  pot  in  this 
way:  that  Bohunks,  Wops,  Poles,  Hunkies, 
Harps,  Kikes,  what  not,  were  poured  into  it 
and  magically  fused  into  Americans.  The 
trouble  with  that  conception  was  that  it  con- 
cluded that  every  one  who  spoke  English  was 
an  American.  Those  who  thought  deeply  upon 
our  country  knew  that  to  be  an  idle  dream. 
They  knew  that  our  unnationalized  public 
school  system,  our  toleration  of  anarchy  and 
socialism,  our  toleration  of  insidious  foreign 
language  newspapers,  our  wrong  conception 
of  our  army  and  navy,  our  sectional  selfish- 
ness, our  lack  of  national  discipline,  indeed  al- 
most anything  national,  had  made  of  the 
**melting  pot"  a  chimera.  And  those  whose 
thoughts  are  penetrating  to-day  likewise  know 
that  the  National  Army  has  made  the  "melt- 
ing pot"  a  reality;  for  it  has  given  us  national 
consciousness.  For  the  first  time  our  genera- 
tion is  now  thinking  in  terms  of  America — our 
English,  as  well  as  our  foreign-tongued  peo- 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  295 

pie.  And  that  is  to  the  glory  of  our  new  army 
and  our  President  who  decreed  it. 

You  remember  that  German  boy  whom  the 
former  gunman,  Corporal  Miggs,  haled  off  to 
see  the  Captain?  Recruit  Herman  Schwartz 
saw  the  Captain;  so  did  Leo  Birkee,  an  Aus- 
trian, and  Pietro  Carmino,  an  Italian,  and 
Ludwig  Wrubel,  a  Pole.  They  saw  the  Cap- 
tain at  the  same  time  he  saw  all  the  members 
of  his  company,  that  afternoon,  just  before 
retreat  in  the  mess  hall.  And  the  Captain  told 
them  all : 

"In  our  Company  are  men  born  in  foreign 
lands.  Some  of  them  speak  English  imper- 
fectly. But  they  are  here,  for  the  same  reason 
you  are  here — to  fight  for  America's  liberty. 
And  like  your  fathers  some  generations  ago 
came  over  here  to  gain  liberty,  so  did  the 
fathers  of  your  foreign-born  comrades  only  a 
few  years  ago.  And  I  want  the  utmost  good 
feeling  between  you  and  them.  I  don't  want 
you  to  laugh  at  their  mistakes  in  English;  I 
want  you  to  correct  them  kindly.  Remember 
in  the  eyes  of  the  President  you're  all  alike — 
America's  soldiers.  And  in  the  eyes  of  God 
you're  all  alike — His  soldiers,  fighting  a  nation 


296  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

of  barbarians,  the  Huns."  .  .  .  There's  your 
real  melting  pot. 

And  if  you  care  to  follow  further  the  for- 
tunes of  Herman  Schwartz  who  told  Corporal 
Miggs  he  would  not  fight  in  the  American 
army  against  his  own  blood,  come  with  me  into 
the  office  of  the  Colonel  of  the  3 —  Infantry. 
Recruit  Schwartz's  company  commander  is 
there  with  him,   and  together  they  face  an 

eagle-eyed,  eagle-beaked  warrior  of  our  Reg- 
ular Army. 

"You  say,"  began  the  Colonel,  "that  you 
won't  fight  against  Germany." 

"I  won't  fight  my  own  blood,"  stubbornly 
repeated  the  blond  boy.  And  then  the  Colonel 
began  to  talk.  He  told  Recruit  Schwartz  of 
the  Germany  that  was  and  the  Germany  that 
is,  and  how  it  had  tricked  the  German  people 
as  well  as  every  other  nation  in  the  world. 

"You  have  served  in  the  German  army," 
said  the  Colonel.  "You  know  how  the  Ger- 
man officers  treat  the  privates.  Is  there  any- 
thing like  that  here?" 

"No,"  replied  the  recruit;  "but  I  hear  they 
won't  let  our  officers  stay  with  us.  They  tell 
me  that  in  Europe  the  American  army  will  be 
put  under  English  officers." 


OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION  297 

"And  who  told  you  that?"  asked  the 
Colonel. 

"I  read  it  in  the "    And  he  mentioned  a 

German- American  newspaper. 

"I  thought  as  much."  And  when  the 
Colonel  told  him  that  he  would  go  to  war  with 
his  present  officers,  Schwartz  seemed  amazed. 

"But  they're  too  decent  to  us,  our  officers," 
he  objected,  his  thoughts  fleeing  to  some  Ger- 
man barrack  yard;  "not  a  man  has  been 
flogged  yet,"  he  added  triumphantly,  as  if  that 
were  the  crowning  argument  that  their  Amer- 
ican officers  were  not  to  take  them  to  France. 
For  an  hour  the  Colonel  talked  to  that  Ger- 
man boy,  and  when  he  was  finished  Recruit 
Schwartz  said:  "Colonel,  I'll  fight.  The 
Hohenzollerns  must  be  beaten — for  the  good 

of  the  German  people  as  well  as  America." 

Yes,  tell  the  drafted  men  w;%;  what  it's  all 
about.  Explain  the  draft  to  them,  the  salute, 
"retreat,"  the  need  for  drill,  discipline,  unhesi- 
tating obedience,  and  they'll  see  it  all  through. 
They  become  interested  in  their  new  work. 
They  feel  they  are  somebody,  not  mere  ma- 
chines. They  gain  pride  in  their  new  profes- 
sions. And  the  National  Army  is  being  told 
the  why  of  it  all,  which  is  why  it  is  a  most  pow- 


298  OUR  FIRST  HALF  MILLION 

erful  force  for  Americanization,  and  why  it  is 
becoming  an  efficient  army. 

Come  along  to  the  Artillery.   See  that  Bat- 
tery, standing  Retreat,  that  little  Italian  with 

his  heels  together.  See  the  Greek  there  who 
used  to  keep  a  flower  shop.  He's  standing  like 
a  statue  now;  might  have  stepped  down  from 
a  pedestal  in  the  Pantheon,  See  that  little 
Syrian  boy  there,  bow-legged,  shoulders  still  a 
little  rounded,  but  trying  so  hard  to  stand  as 
straight  as  the  tall,  lean  Norwegian  beside  him. 
"To  the  colors!"  the  bugles  are  playing,  and 
they  all  stand  still  a  statuesque  guard  as  their 
flag  is  lowered  and  put  to  sleep  for  the  night. 
...  And  day  is  but  breaking  when  they're 
out  again;  in  line,  at  attention,  as  the  flag 
climbs  the  tall  pole  on  Headquarters  Hill. 
Thirty  thousand  men  saying  good-morning  to 
the  colors.  From  the  kitchen,  savory  hints  of 
breakfast  come.  Bayonets  dimly  ghmmer; 
sentries  are  going  off  post.  Another  day  in  the 
lives  of  thirty  thousand  men,  who  only  months 
before  had  no  sense  of  national  responsibility, 
has  begun — begun  for  America.  And  the 
beauty  of  it  is  that  it  all  seems  now  a  matter  of 
course,  noblesse  oblige.  .  .  .  Over  America 
spreads  the  dawn. 


"^/:i~ 


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